The Night After That
by theonewhofights
Summary: Nobody ever thought Ponyboy Curtis would run away, not even if he was hit. Nobody ever thought Ponyboy Curtis would stay away for almost a week, and things went on at home that he was never told about. Nobody ever thought Ponyboy Curtis would have a crush, and nobody could've ever predicted whom it would be.
1. Platinum Chains

**Hiya everyone! I'm not completely dead to the world after all! I know it's been a long time since I posted, so for all of you out there who were reading Rise of the Ice Dragons, I'm sorry that I left you hanging. I'll start updating that story soon, but for right now I've decided that I want to write an Outsiders fic because I've been dying to do it for ages and ages now. So here it is!**

 **This story is set a few days after Darry has hit Ponyboy and has run away with Johnny after he accidentally committed murder. In this story, Dallas and Johnny will both remain alive no matter what happens (because I heart them). It's told from Darry's third person point view. I also don't know whether or not this will be an eventual Darry/Ponyboy, because I ship that couple, but I'm not sure yet. We'll just have to see. :) I will definetly be updating this often, because I love the Outsiders and the characters and the storyline! Also, this chapter is pretty short, but I promise that they will get much longer. It starts out kinda angesty, but it will not end that way at all!**

 **On that solid note, happy reading, everyone!**

* * *

If Darrel concentrated, he could still feel the sting.

The burn wasn't just enveloping his hand; it raced across his body to curl forcefully in his chest. It hurt like fire, like Darry was being shoved in an oven and turned to ashes as his bones melted away.

It was like his own personal hell.

To be truthfully ironic, that's actually exactly what this was: Darrel's worst nightmare come to life. His brother, his baby brother, gone. Maybe for good. For the rest of forever. And it was all Darry's fault, because no, he _had_ to get mad at Ponyboy, and yes, he _had_ to hit him round his face so hard that he would most likely have the marks of a red handprint on his face for at least a few days. The mere image of what that must look like made Darrel blanch and feel like he was going to vomit.

Sodapop was worse, in a way, and Darry could understand that. His girlfriend had left him, pregnant with some other man's child, all alone, all by himself. His older brother was an evil demon and his younger brother was a soul damned to his cold hands.

When Darry thought about it, he inwardly confirmed that yep, Sodapop had it worse.

Though Soda had metal chains that were thrown on him by other people, Darrel had links of pure platinum binding his wrists and neck around a weight so heavy that he almost snapped his bones trying to move it. After awhile, bearing the brunt of the flaming iron holding him down was nearly manageable; at least, Darry could take a step forward without his insides splitting open for everyone to see.

But this...this brought the fighting man to his knees.

How could he go on without Ponyboy? So innocent and young and full of life and love. He was going to go somewhere. Make a better future, not end up like his brothers working so long that he feared his back might break, or forced to ring people up at some gas station down the street. Darry was afriad he had corrupted the innocence, stolen the life, pressed a fast-forward button on his youth and reaped him of any love he had left.

Darrel Shaynne Curtis sat at what was called the dining table, a newspaper that was a few days old laying in front of him. On the front page was a story on two young boys wanted for murder. They were currently on the run, and sources said that they were headed south, towards Texas. It even had pictures, but only one; of the murder weapon. A switchblade. If Darrel could have laughed, he would have. Stupid reporters thinking what Dallas Winston said was the truth.

Darry's head was in his hands, and if one looked closely they could see moisture gathering in his electric eyes. This was all his fault. His brother had run away because of him. He...he might not make it back.

And if Ponyboy Curtis didn't make it, Darry didn't think he was going to either.

* * *

"Sodapop, you gotta get up, you're gonna be late for work." Darry's voice was rough and scratchy from lack of use, but he still managed a cough or two and a few forced words. A cup of his favorite bitter black coffee and he would be good as...previously owned. Darry wasn't new.

"No." Was the simple response. Soda buried his face in one of the few pillows on the tattered old couch and was still.

"Please Sodapop. Please get up." Darry's throat also hurt, but he could get over it. Perhaps he needed that coffee sooner than he had thought.

"No. No. No."

"Get up, Soda!" Darry raised his voice a little, and reached out to grab his brother by the back of his shirt and drag him off of the cushions. "You can't mope for forever."

There was a dull thud, and a moment later Soda got up from the floor and brushed himself off. His eyebrows pulled together and he stared up at his brother. Darry stole a second from the universe to stare back and examine his brother. He had bags under his eyes, his face was pale and unhealthy-looking, and any sparkle found behind his brown orbs was crushed as the light was sucked out of them.

(Darrel didn't know it, but he looked far, far worse; his lips had become uneven in places because he had bitten them so hard they bled, and shadows of the darkest purple in the world rested below the pupils that once shone a bright blue and were now dulled to a washed-out indigo. He was much paler than his brother, to the point where if you added his sickly complexion to his eyes he looked like the walking dead. Literally.)

"SCREW WORK! I AIN'T GOIN', DARRY!" Sodapop yelled, shaking with sudden anger. His frame trembled, and he balled his hands up in fists to try and control it.

"Why not?" Darry asked calmly, refusing to start a screaming match. In the past few lonelier days, when Darrel ghosted through the halls, he would sometimes stop and stare at the peeling wallpaper and wonder who invented screaming. He thought about it for awhile, and then came to the conclusion that someone very angry had created yelling. Darry then thought to how much he yelled sometimes, and then wondered if it was because he had so much anger on the inside.

Every single time Darry did this, he would always look away from the wall in horror. Darry didn't think he was _too_ angry (whenever he thought that, stories about Johnny's parents popped into his mind), just a little hard on everybody because he loved them. He was especially strict with Ponyboy, because he loved him the most and didn't want him to be stuck with his brothers for the rest of his life.

Stopping at that same spot on the wall and thinking had taught Darrel patience and how to use it.

Sodapop seemed taken aback when Darry didn't yell at him; usually he would have gotten a sharp whap on the back of his head and a shameful scolding.

"I-I..." Soda didn't know where to start. He hurt so bad. "I just don't wanna, Dar."

Darrel gave another long look to his brother, and this time saw the same pain behind his eyes that were resting in his own. He then knew his brother needed time. Maybe more time than Darry.

(Darrel also didn't know this, but if Ponyboy died Sodapop would recover after a few years. Darry would never recover. The reins of darkness would rear over him, and he would not resurface. Ever.)

Darry pulled away from his thoughts, and said, "Ok."

Sodapop blinked himself silly as Darrel turned away and began searching for his work boots.

"You're just gonna let me not go to work?" He asked, bewildered. Darry nodded absently and, spotting his boots in the corner, grabbed them and made a move to sit down on his chair.

Sodapop stopped him by shoving one finger in Darry's face. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" He demanded.

Darrel arched an eyebrow, something he had picked up from Two-Bit. "Standing right in front of you, Soda."

The blonde cracked a smile that was so rarely seen these days. "Nope. My uptight older brother would never not let me go to work. He'd shove me out the door with him. Or kick my ass. Or pull me into his truck. Or somethin' to that extent."

Darry found himself smiling in return, his grin stretching across his cheeks and waking up the muscles there. "Well, your uptight brother decided to take a vacation. For now, I'm lettin' ya get off work." He saw Soda's face light up a bit, but then he shook his head. " _Only_ for today. Tomorrow you gotta promise to leave the house with me."

Sodapop nodded eagerly, and without any hesitation pulled his brother into a light hug.

"Thanks for givin' me a break and for lettin' me stay, Darry." He said into Darrel's shoulder. Darry hugged him back, and replied with a soft "No problem."

They parted. Soda sat back down on the couch, looking a little more alive, and Darry glanced at his watch. He proclaimed he had to go, or else he would be late.

"Bye, Darry!" Sodapop called as Darrel had put one foot outside the house.

"Bye, Sodapop! And don't forget to have the dishes done and trash taken out before I get back!"

"There's the Darry I know and love!" Soda responded cheerily.

Darry wouldn't say it, but that simple sentence did wonders to his heart. He was forgiven, in Sodapop's eyes. The fact gave him such joy that he did a handstand and then a somersault to celebrate, right there on the sidewalk.

As Darry opened the door to his truck, hopped in, and turned the key in the ignition, he felt some of the chains weighing him down lift. But only a few; Darrel had a far way to go before all of the thick heaviness melted away.


	2. Red Shields and Yellow Bruises

**Hey everyone! Here's your next chapter, up and ready, and as I promised, much longer than the previous one. It's still kinda on the angsty side, but we're movin' away from that slowly. I want Darry to be a deep thinker though, so sometimes we'll sorta submerge into his mind when he's seriously debating something.**

 **Thank you to FrankElza for your kind review! It made my day and motivated me to write this chapter as quickly as I did. Thank you so much! :)**

 **That's everything for now. Happy reading!**

* * *

Darry hadn't even been home for five minutes when the fighting started.

"I didn't cheat!" Darrel heard Steve holler. _Great,_ he thought, _way to go provoke Dally, Randle._

Darry quickly shimmied out of his tool belt and slipped off his work boots. He half-sprinted into the livingroom, just in time to spot Dallas Winston's eyes flash dangerously. If this were a regular day, Steve wouldn't have dared to cheat Dallas, wouldn't have had to protest in the first place, and he would have backed down from Dally for sure, but today wasn't a regular day. There hadn't been a regular day for three days now.

"You did." Dally growled, pointing to Steve's shoe. Darry couldn't see anything, but he'd bet his last paycheck (that was saying a lot right there) that the greaser had hidden a card or two in his socks.

 _Sodapop must have worn off on him._ Said menace was looking quite guilty as he sat squashed against the seat of Darry's chair, watching the spectacle unfolding in front of him while he chewed his lip. Two-Bit wasn't here yet, but he would be soon. Most likely out flirting with blondes and drinking at a pub somewhere.

Steve, the hot-headed idiot, stubbornly refused to give in. "Listen, Winston, I won. So you owe me. Pay up!"

Darry's eyes could barely glance to the middle of the coffee table where a small wad of cash lay, though he supposed they might have bet more and just not put the money there, before Dally threw down his cards and lunged.

They tumbled all over the floor, shouting angrily. It was funny for a moment, but then Dallas began to get the upper hand (no surprise there) and it got kinda ugly (also no surprise).

Darry sighed and rolled his eyes in frustration, and easily got in the middle of the two and yanked them away from each other. Well, he sort of accidentally threw Steve at the wall (in Darrel's defense, slamming into concrete seemed safer than the prospect of being beat up by Dallas Winston) and Dally ended up facedown on the floor.

In record time, Dally popped back up and proceeded to shake himself off. Judging by the curl of his lip and his clenched hands, he could go another round or two. Or three.

"Will you two cut it out?" Darry asked in pure exasperation. Steve had the decency to look a little ashamed as Darrel gave him a cold glare, but Dally (though he still feared the eldest Curtis more than he was willing to admit), wasn't made up of the same stuff.

"He cheated, and the little shit won't admit it." Dally cursed, gesturing at the brown-haired greaser with distaste.

Steve puffed up. " _What did you just call me?_ "

Dally smiled provocotively. "You heard me, little cheating shit. Now I want another game, a _fair game,_ or else I'm gonna beat the fuck outta you."

"If you come at him, Dal, or if you come at him, Steve, I will kick both of your asses so hard that you'll be in Florida by midnight." Darry threatened darkly, staring the two teenagers down.

Both of them quieted for a moment, thinking that siduation through in their heads. Admittedly, it didn't look very pretty. The fight seemed to be over, but while Darrel wasn't looking Steve flicked Dallas the finger with a nasty smirk. A quick slapping sound could be faintly heard if one was listening; Sodapop had connected his hand to his forehead.

Dally saw it, unfortunately. "Gimme my money back, Greaser!" He screamed at Steve, his face turning more murderous by the second, as he was unable to let loose his anger because Darry would literally kick his ass.

"I won, so NO, Hood!" Steve yelled right back. He started to move forwards again, as if he would jump Dally with Darry standing _right in front of them._

Darry could see the cracks in his emotional shield lengthening with his provoked irkness. Darrel thought that everyone had an invisible shield in front of them that changed colors when their emotions spiked or morphed, and became more damaged with how unstable that person or the feelings that they were trying to contain were. The shield reacted to different people, and became thinner or denser as well. Also, they were rarely one solid color, because people were rarely feeling one single emotion; colors usually ran underneath others, layered by how intensely someone felt that particular emotion. He had gotten so used to picturing them in his head that he could predict almost exactly what everyone's looked like at any time. Darry could read someone's shield like other people read someone's face.

(Emotional shields, Darry thought, protected people from showing too much of who they really were and helped to make sure they didn't get hurt. It was a sort of built-in safety net. People didn't know it, but they could raise and lower their shield if they wished, but Darry hadn't been able to see someone with their shield lowered in a decent amount of years. Who would want to, anyway? Darry supposed someone in love might want to, yet he couldn't be absolutely sure.)

For instance, Dally's was a dangerous, shocking blood-red with an undercurrent of black, mainly because he was angry. There was a crack in the middle of it, a huge one that looked like someone had shot a miniature bazooka at it, and from there split in a diagonal line across the rest of the shield. The shield vibrated and hardened when it faced its opponent, who was currently Steve. Steve's shield was also red, but more of a bright scarlet with a few lines of blue, green, and grey showing though. It wasn't as broken as Dally's, but it had a few dents here and there and scratches like a cat had gotten to it.

Darry honestly couldn't tell what color his was at the moment (though he refused to count how many harsh marks and rough slashes decorated it), and right now he really didn't have the time to stop and think and look. He just opened his mouth and yelled so loudly Dally and Steve stopped hollering in a heartbeat, "ENOUGH!

Dallas blinked at him as Steve did the same. Sure, Darry could scream up a storm if he wanted, but the pair didn't know he could get so upset that he manually changed his dynamics from _Blow Your Ears Off_ to _Bring the House Down._

Darrel looked between the two of them. "Steven-" Steve gulped a little. Darry only called him that when he was in deep shit. "-you are going to give the money you cheated Dally out of back to him. And Dallas-" Dally stood his (uneven) ground. "-calm the hell down and let it go, before I knock both your heads together."

Steve seemed like he wanted to argue, but let it go once he saw how Darry was looking at him. Grudgingly, he forked over twenty dollars with a mumbled, "Sorry, Dally."

Dallas hissed lowly something that sounded like "You'd better be." But nonetheless nodded slightly and swiped back his money. He really wanted to punch Steve in the face, but he wouldn't do it just yet. For Darry's sake.

Darrel released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding, and allowed his shoulders to sag and take his body's weight. He immediently calmed, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and began walking to the kitchen so he could fix some dinner. It was as if somebody had flicked a switch; big bad Darry was all gone and was replaced with neutral, tired, _leave me alone_ Darry.

Steve and Sodapop watched him go, and, despite his quarrel with Dally, Steve turned to the hood and whispered, "Superman's not looking too great."

Nobody really knew it, but Darry wasn't as strong and grown-up as they all thought. He had to act all tough and bold and unemotional on the outside, and yes, he could admit that those things were part of him. On the inside, he was a scared boy who missed his younger brother like nothing else and wished desperately for his parents. He really just wanted to sit and cry, but Greasers don't cry.

(The first day Ponyboy had gone, Sodapop had cried his eyes out. He still did every morning. Darrel wouldn't ever tell a soul.)

Now, there was nothing to do but sit and wait. And worry.

Or so Darry thought.

Darrel was casually mixing some mashed potatos and thinking, listening with only one ear to the news on the TV that Sodapop was most likely watching and to the soft _pat_ sound of thin cards being tossed on the coffee table. Dallas and Steve had started a new game. Hopefully it was a fair one and Darry wouldn't have to intervene.

Suddenly, the door banged open. Not particularly unusual, and Darry turned towards the noise to warn whomever was coming in not to let the screen slam behind them. His breath caught in his throat when a very battered-looking Two-Bit Matthews stumbled though the doorway into the kitchen and half-collapsed on the dinner table.

"Two-Bit!" Darry exclaimed in shock. He quickly shut off the stove so he wouldn't accidentally burn the house down and rushed to his friend, who's skin was bypassing white and going straight to a light green. Two-Bit's lip was busted, and from tilting his head up, Darry could see a purplish bruise across his temple, along with two thin gashes on his chin. Somehow, there was blood smearing the edge of the greaser's right eyebrow, and a closer inspection showed that it was split open. That wound looked like it hurt, and Darrel was sure it would need stitches.

"Two-Bit..." Darry said again, but this time it was in horror. "What happened to you?"

"Socs. Got jumped on the way back from the Dingo." Two-Bit's green face darkened in color abruptly, and he ran to the bathroom faster than he would have run towards a six-pack of free beer.

Darry heard the sickly, violent sounds of Two-Bit vomiting. Hearing the commotion, Sodapop traipsed in the room almost lazily, not knowing what Darrel had witnessed or what was going on.

It took Soda less than five seconds to see the distress (well, more than usual) on his brother's face. "What's goin' on, Dar?" He then listened to the wreached sounds coming from the bathroom. He took a wild guess. "Is Two-Bit alright? Damn, he must've drank one too many shots-"

"He got jumped, Soda. By Socs." Darrel's voice was hard. "They beat him up. Bad."

"Who got beat up by Socs?" Dally's voice asked from the living room.

"Two-Bit!"

"Ah, crap." The brothers heard in response. They gave each other a glance, and in an instance knew exactly why the Socs decided to pound their buddy into pudding: the Socs, all of them, found out that Bob had been murdered by a Greaser. Not only were they upset that their friend was dead, but to make matters worse, they wanted blood for blood. Things were even rougher because the rich kids couldn't get who they really wanted, little Johnnycakes and innocent Ponyboy, so they went after the remaining Curtis gang members to let out their anger. If it wasn't safe before, it was now downright suicide for Steve, Sodapop, or Two-Bit to go anywhere alone. The same rules should really apply to Darry and Dally, but Dally was the toughest, scariest hood around. Nobody sane would mess with him. And Darry had enough strength to give someone a concussion in two swift aimed punches to the head if he felt like it. Nobody smart would mess with him.

Two-Bit had insisted he go out by himself tonight, saying he didn't need to be mollycoddled or walked home or driven or anything of that sort. Darry had let him because he had the impression that Two-Bit wanted some alone time. Sure, the absence of Ponyboy and Johnny was hard on the gang, especially Darry, Dally, and Soda, but Steve and Two-Bit took hits as well. Two-Bit hadn't cracked a joke to the rest of them in 72 hours. He couldn't without smiles or laughs afterwards. He missed a certian quiet smile and another specific small chuckle.

Soon the noisy throwing up stopped, and a toilet flushed. Two-Bit staggered out, clutching his abdomen. His shirt rid up a little, and there was a small line of yellowish marks here and there.

"Sorry, Darry." Two-Bit apoligized with a grimace as he sat on one of the uncomfortable wooden dining chairs that the Curtis's owned. "Them Socs got me good a couple times in my ribs and stomach." It looked painful talking through that lip. Blood from his eyebrow was running down his face in miniature rivers, and Sodapop snatched a few paper towels and handed them over. Two-Bit took them gratefully.

"Jeez, Two-Bit, what the hell?" Steve and Dally had come out to see the action and what was left of their friend. Two-Bit granted Steve a wave, before pressing the paper towels to his cuts and gaspng at the pain. A cigarette was between Dallas's lips, and he puffed it out of concern. Tiny smokey-grey clouds emitted, curling up towars the ceiling and the fading away.

Darry wanted to tend to him, but the Greaser shook his head and pushed Darrel's hand away. "Darry, they were sayin' stuff when they were beatin' me. Important stuff. And when I ran they said important stuff too."

"Steve, go get me some ice from the freezer. Sodapop, turn the stove back on and finish cooking dinner for me. And I want all the food NORMAL colors, okay? No whacky stuff tonight." Darry instructed. The two boys nodded, Soda with a little disappointment, before Darrel turned back to his buddy. "Don't worry about it, forget what they said, Two-Bit. It doesn't mean anything."

Two-Bit clutched Darry's arm with such surprising power that Darry was startled and looked into his eyes.

"No, Darry." Two-Bit almost whimpered. "They're coming here. For us. They wanna fight, a big one, soon, and they ain't gonna wait long."

Darry was just about to deny that (because come on, that wouldn't be fair with both sides missing numbers) and tell his friend to worry about it later, but he was interrupted when there was a sharp knock on the door. Everyone's head swiveled in that direction to stare. Dally even stopped mid-smoke.

Steve handed Darrel the ice he had requested, and because no one else seemed like they were going to, he went and opened the door.

"What?"

"Darrel Curtis here?" An unfirmiliar voiced asked with an equal amount of snap in his tone that Steve had had in his.

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Tell him to come out. I want a word."

Steve looked at Darry, who wiped his hands out of habit and walked over. Steve slid out of the way so Darel could see a black-haired, dark grey-eyed Soc with light blue expensive brand jeans and madras standing on his dorrstep with his arms folded. They unfolded when the Soc saw Darry, and realized that the Greaser was a full four inches taller than him.

"Can I help you?" Darrel asked in his semi-deep voice. He raised an eyebrow. Darry pictured this Socs shield a murky brown with hints of almost nonexsistent aqua hidden and sparking in and out of view, like a lightning storm. But, unlike a lightning storm, this Soc wasn't shockingly flashy or rightfully powerful. He just put on a show.

The Soc nodded coolly, hints of a smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth. "Sure you can help us, grease."

Darry barely had time to think _He said us,_ when six other Socs came into view, almost like they had been hovering out of sight the entire time. The Soc in front of Darrel drew a switchblade form his back pocket slowly.

"So here's what's gonna happen, grease." The Soc said, holding the tip of the blade to Darry's throat. "You're gonna come with us, quietly, right now. That way, your filthy brother won't have to feel as much pain when we're done with him."

Darry's brain picked up on the words _filthy_ _brother,_ and locked on them. He'd reached his limit for today: the stressful beginning of the morning with Sodapop, the hell that was called work, breaking up Dally and Steve and trying to keep both of their faces from being ripped off, Two-Bit stumbling in hurt, and now he had to deal with _this shit!?_

Without a second thought, Darry let out a blind punch.


	3. Dare You Challenge Darrel Curtis

**Chapter three! Yaaaay! I know that it's supposed to be really exciting for the reader because they read what I write, but I sometimes just can't wait to write my next chapter. I think I like the characters too much. So here's chapter three!**

 **Thank you for your reviews and follows!**

* * *

Though the odds weren't very good (fists to blades, though Two-Bit and Dallas might be carrying theirs, and five Greasers to seven Socs), Darry had already initiated the first move, so he decided to just screw it all and go with it.

The Soc he had punched stumbled back a few steps, the force too powerful for him to contain standing still. He let out a yell that Darry could only make out as "GET THEM!" because he was too busy turning around and screaming to the rest of the gang, "SOCS! HERE!"

Dally immediently threw down his cigarette and sprinted out the door, Steve and Sodapop right behind him. Two-Bit wasn't in any shape to fight, but that didn't seem to bother him as he discarded the paper towel he had been holding to his eyebrow and opened up a random kitchen drawer, picking up the first thing he saw; a rolling pin. He ran after the others, thinking in his mind so loudly that everyone else must have heard it, _Dammit_ _, Darrel, I freaking told you so! I told you they were gonna come for a fight!_

As soon as he was outside, Two-But started swinging the rolling pin wildly, and was sometimes lucky enough to crack a Soc across the temple in revenge for the matching bruise decorating his own. He jabbed and parred and knocked switchblades out of hands, then proceeded to continue battering whomever was unfortunate enough to get in his way.

Dally had drawn his own switch and was slashing like a madman, a sort of crazed glint in his eyes. Darry saw this, and in a blink of an eye flipped the hood over his head and behind him so that they were back-to-back. Dallas was unprepared for it and dropped his blade, which Darrel picked up and pocketed. When he was this angry, Dally could kill somebody with it, and Darry really didn't want any more Greasers killing any more Socs.

Steve and Sodapop were fighting more towards the side of the yard, rather than by the front porch like Darry and Dally, two against three. They were actually holding out quite well, though Darry guessed that was because they were best friends and made a great team in whatever they put their minds to, not to mention having the handy ability to predict or mimic their moves onto each other until finally letting loose a well-planned attack. Their fists were swinging and their legs were kicking high (something Darry was proud of; he had known it would be a good idea to take that special class. It really helped them fight), and whenever two Socs ganged up on one of them, the friends would rescue whomever needed help in a heartbeat.

"You're dead meat, Grease!" The Soc that had originally challenged Darry shrieked, holding up his switchblade with a slightly shaking hand. Said Greaser almost laughed in his face, but restrained himself because he would much rather punch hit smack wham whoops, uh-oh, Darry thought as the Soc dropped like a sack of flour. Hey, that's what you get when you insult a missing Curtis. Darry allowed himself a small smirk that was flashed so quickly you couldn't be sure you had seen it at all.

"Darry! A little help, please!?" Two-Bit called desperately. His weapon of choice had broken in half because he had been swinging it so hard, and now he was reduced to fighting with his fists. Blood was getting in his eyes, which meant he couldn't see, which meant that he needed Darrel to knock the shitnuggets out of the Socs trying to come at him that had the potential to beat him up. Again.

Darrel would have gone over to assist him, except he was currently being punched in the face, and it was kind of hurting, so that would have to wait a moment.

Surprisingly, when Darry couldn't be there, Dally came to Two-Bit's aid. They fought together for a minute, Dally always hovering close to his buddy in case he needed extra help. Darry shot them a look that they most likely didn't see; the tough, mean, cold Dallas Winston rescuing the happy bubbly Two-Bit Matthews? But yes, it was true and was indeed happening. Sort of like the cruel Dallas Winston befriending the sweet Johnny Cade.

Actually, now that Darry was thinking about it, he sort of liked Dallas and Two-Bit as a fighting pair better than he liked Steve and Sodapop. Sure, Steve and Soda were close and that had its advantages in a fight, but Dally and Two-Bit looked as if they were dancing. It was a bloody and dangerous dance, one that required a lot of skill, yet the two Greasers made it seem effortless. Almost timed, down to the second.

Dally swung low and Two-Bit aimed high, right before they both kneed their opposers in the gut before neatly dodging the sharp blades cutting in their direction. Two-Bit was sort of laughing, and if you added the blood dripping steadily down his face to that sound, he looked insane. Dallas didn't need to be laughing and he didn't need blood gushing down his face; he seemd crazy enough without it.

(Darrel wouldn't admit it, but he was somewhat jealous. He wished that he had somebody that complimented him in a fight the same way Steve and Sodapop worked together or the way Two-Bit and Dally tangoed; even Ponyboy and Johnny jumped the same guy to bring him down. Darry fought ok with Tim Sheppard, but they rarely thought the exact same thing at the exact same time and then had the patience to execute what they wanted to do.)

Socs were dropping like flies left and right, once in a while losing and then regaining consciousness and scrambling to their feet once they fully came around. It was no use, however; this was Greaser turf they were intruding on, and it was specifically _Darrel Curtis's_ Greaser turf. His front yard, nonetheless. Curtis home court.

Despite all the raging going on, everyone began to grow tired, but it was clear that the Socs were more exhausted than the Greasers. Fights began to cease and the winners began to emerge. Most of them were Greasers. It seemed the Curtis gang simply had more anger.

Eventually, Sodapop, still in his own battle, flicked one last slow but effective punch at an already abused face. The owner of the face clutched at it and groaned in pain, before giving up.

"I can't do it no more, Eric!" He shouted to the Soc that had originally challenged Darry.

Eric, who's nose was cocked at a slightly crooked angle thanks to Darrel's first hit, pressed his busted lips together and was about to shout back. He was interrupted when Dally came flying at him out of no where and started pounding him. Darry had to (regretfully) pull his friend off when pained screams erupted: Darry also didn't need any more Greasers going to jail because they had killed more Socs.

Picking himself off the blood-stained grass, Eric wiped at his face. "C'mon, guys. We need to rest up before we can finish wiping the grease off our hands." He called nastily. Dally snarled at the insult and tried surging at him again, but Darrel firmly held him back with clenched teeth of his own. Dallas smirked when Eric took a few wary steps back. "Let's go!"

Shouts and the sound of skin hitting skin dissapated, replaced with the noise of spits and a few half-hearted cheap shots. There was a lot of shoving, and Steve almost continued, even though Eric had called off the gang, because this one guy was giving him a look and it was pissing him off greatly. Sodapop put a hand on his shoulder and calmed him.

Another minute passed, and the Socs were standing around their expensive cars that sat on the ruddy street, and the Greasers were leaning against the wooden railing of the Curtis's front porch. Two-Bit had to be picked up from where he had been curled up on the ground, his fresh wounds piling onto his old ones to the point where he needed help standing and walking. Dallas and Steve each lit up a cigarette, trying to look tuff through the bruises and blood on their faces. The rest of the gang crossed their arms and scowled, the expression feeling wrong as it stretched across Sodapop's usually smiling face. Darry added to the intimidating effect by glaring the blackest glare he could.

It sure did work, because the rich boys started getting into their cars.

"We'll be back, Grease. For Bob. Because one of your dirty members killed him." Eric claimed provocatively, seeing the glint that went though Dally's eyes when he insulted Johnny. "And the other piece of trash helped." This time, Darry and Sodapop curled their fists in anger.

"Shut your trap, you sonofabitch!" Two-Bit and Sodapop snarled in unison, their lips pulling back from their teeth and their knuckles beginning to crack. They felt like Dallas; who says they couldn't go another round or two?

Eric was going to argue, but Darry's cold voice stopped him dead. "Get off our land, Eric, and stop insulting our gang. You have no right to be here in the first place. And so help me," Quiet rage rose in Darrel's tone. He usually didn't make true threats, but Darry was mad. "If you don't get off my grass, I will grab you by your pretty little madras and DRAG YOU UP AND DOWN THE STREET UNTIL YOUR SKIN RIPS OFF!"

The Socs not inside the cars yet, including Eric, blanched but didn't move. Even the gang was shocked.

" _GO!_ " Darry yelled at them. They unfroze and nodded and practically shoved their friends out of the way so that they could get the middle seat, or whatever seat was farthest away from the electric eyes of the eldest Curtis. Soon the cars were peeling away, until they turned the at the corner of the road and were gone.

There was silence for a minute.

"Shit, Darry, ya coulda told us that they had blades." Steve said, lifting his right arm and examining a long but thin mark that ran from his elbow to his wrist. Darry hadn't noticed it, but now that he was paying attention, he could plainly see that the gang was rather worse for wear. He suddenly felt a pain in his face and on his right hip, and out of the corner of his eye could make out a red mark on his hand.

Darrel sighed, and gestured for everyone to get in the house.

* * *

"IT BURNS!" Two-Bit shreiked over-dramatically as Darry dabbed a hydrogine peroxcide-soaked cloth on his various cuts.

"I barely touched you! Quit squirming, you drama queen, so I can finish." Darry said, rolling his eyes and continuing. Sodapop laughed from the bathroom, where he and Dallas were currently washing the dried blood off of their faces. Darrel could hear water splashing, and Dally coughing out what he had accidentally ingested. You would think that after being in countless fights and rumbles that the hood could figure out how to properly clean out cuts without drinking the blood-laced water running down his face, but nope. No wonder why Johnny had to constantly do it for him.

Steve snickered, holding his cut arm under the sink. The water stained red. "Aww, the clown's decided to retire and become a pouty ponce!"

Two-Bit looked irritated, and Darry could tell he was searching the room for something to throw. Wordlessly (and only because he was done), Darrel handed Two-Bit the towel he had been using. Grinning gratefully, Two-Bit waited a second, and then let the towel fly.

It smacked against Steve's cheek, making a slapping noise. Steve was open-mouth in indignace, but Two-Bit was too busy chortling to care, really. Steve looked at Darry for backup, yet the Greaser only sent him a wide smile and stood up from his leaning position.

"Ack!" Darrel yelped, grabbing at his lower back and reaching to clutch at Two-Bit. His buddy immediently stopped laughing.

"You alright Dar?" He asked, lifting a hand to rub at Darry's shoulder. It was rare that Darry ever showed his pain, and when he did, it must be bad.

Darry bit his lip, breathed once, and then nodded and let go of Two-Bit's leg. "I'm-I'm fine." He straightened, but slowly. When the searing pain he had been experiencing dulled to a low burning, he dropped his hand from massaging his back. He had other more important things to do, like make sure the rest of the gang was alright.

"Darry, where are the bandages?" Dally called.

"Cabinet!"

"Already checked there!"

"Try the drawer!"

There was a shuffling sound, a slam, and a few whispers. Finally, Dally and Sodapop emerged, each carrying some gauze and band-aids.

"Alright everyone, you know the drill." Darry said it almost sadly, because nobody should have to fight so many times that they knew many memory how to bandage their wounds, but in this case, the gang had no choice. Wordlessly, people held out their hands and grasped what they needed. Darrel tried not to look at the bruise on Sodapop's jaw; that in itself was bad enough, and it got him thinking about Ponyboy and what state he could be in.

Dally was halfway done patching up the cuts that patterned his knuckles, when he spoke up.

"We're runnin' out of supplies, Dar. This is all that's left of the gauze." Dallas nodded towards his own hands. "We need to go into town and pick up more stuff. I smell a rumble."

Darrel buried his face in his hands, before dragging them down his cheekbones. "Yeah. Me too. And we'll go tomorrow, because it's way to late today." A quick check of the clock said that it was almost eight. The fight had ended about an hour ago.

Everyone finished up tending to their wounds, and waited patiently as Darry attempted to resurrect their dinner. Nobody seemed to talk much at dinner. Maybe everyone was just too sad.

As Darry set the food on the table, he forced himself to watch as the gang came in the room. He noticed that they didn't have a spark anymore; they didn't bounce or race to the table or chuckle on the way. The life, a bright glow that they hadn't known that they carried, was gone.

Darrel thought about Sodapop's eyes that didn't sparkle anymore. A firmiliar guilt pressed his shoulders.

They had won today, a small victory that proved they could work together without Ponyboy and Johnny.

But without Ponyboy and Johnny, there was no sparkle or glow. Darry had a feeling that mattered more than any amount of wins ever would.


	4. The Train

**Hiya! Sorry about this chapter being a little later than usual, but it is most definetly longer! My longest chapter ever, actually, which is why it took so long for me to write. The next one will be up soon, though, I promise!**

 **Be warned, however; this story is rated M for a reason. In this chapter there is attempted suicide! (Also a bit of mentioned slash.) So if you don't like, DON'T READ! Otherwise, enjoy. Happy reading!**

* * *

When Darry woke up, it was to the sound of bickering. He wasn't shocked; now it had been four days since Ponyboy and Johnny had left, and the more time pressed onwards, the more pressure it divided onto the gang's backs. It was rare that a single hour went by without a squabble breaking out, over the stupidest shit. Nobody could help it, however; the absence of the two teens was taking a large, worrying toll.

Darrel almost didn't want to get out of bed, but his mind screamed at him until he grudgingly obeyed. He tossed his plain grey sheets off his body, rubbed his eyes, and stood up. Darry reached for the first shirt that he could find (a thin cotton white t-shirt) and pulled it over his head. Using one hand to try and flatten his insanely cowlicky hair, he paused for a moment to listen. The argument he could hear from inside his room was escalating. From the their tones, it was Dallas and Two-Bit.

Twisting the doorknob and pushing open his door, the oldest Curtis's eyebrows unconsiously drew together in a puzzled expression. He wasn't surprised that Dally would pick a fight, but _Two-Bit?_ That was a shock. What could possibly get Matthews upset, only drinking four beers instead of five?

(Darrel should not have been as surprised as he was; in the past four days, nobody had acted like themselves. It was kind of creepy to see a silent Steve Randle or a quiet Two-Bit Matthews.)

Darry walked in (noting that Sodapop and Steve were both absent) right when the action started.

"Change it back!" Two-Bit snapped, glaring at Dallas. The hood was twirling the remote to the television in his hand, always keeping it out of Two-Bit's reach. Two-Bit frowned deeply, the strangness of that particular look on his face rivaling watching Sodapop scowl. He made another quick grab for it, but Dally was quicker.

"I don't wanna watch another episode of some damned mouse dancing across the screen! I'm fucking bored and I wanna see something ELSE!" Dally countered. Two-Bit was fuming and seemed like he was going to lunge, but Darry jumped inbetween the fighting boys and shook his head.

"Dallas, give me the remote." Grumpily, Dally handed Darrel the little dark box. He took it in an almost scolding manner. "Two-Bit, you can survive one hour without TV. Wait until Sodapop and Steve wake up, and help them clean the house and make breakfast. Dally and I are going out."

Dallas coolly raised an eyebrow, like, _We are?_ But nonetheless didn't argue when Darry sent him a pointed look. Gesturing for Dally to follow him and ignoring Two-Bit's horrified sputters, Darry made his way into the kitchen to grab something small to eat. A lot of people didn't know it, but Darrel actually didn't need to eat that much to get through a day. His body made smart use of little fuel, and munching down on a single apple for breakfast could get him through work until he came home to make the food for the evening. Darry always made a big dinner, despite all of this; partially because more often than not the gang was present, and partially because Darry liked food and he liked to eat, as scary as that prospect was. More specifically, he loved desserts and sweets: once he ate half of a chocolate pound cake in a sitting. His mother had yelled her head off in worry, fearing that he would vomit it all back up, but he surprised her when no such thing happened. From that point forth, it was known that Darrel Shaynne Curtis had an iron stomach.

"Want anything?"

Dallas shook his head. "I'm good."

The person Darry didn't have to worry about as much was Dally, coddling and comfort-wise, but he was the one Darrel had to hide the most from trouble. Sure, Sodapop and Two-Bit got thrown in the slammer by the fuzz every now and then, but they were only being overly-silly. Dallas got into real deep shit; appearing out of thin air in the middle of the night, doing...whatever he did, and then vanishing before the sunlight touched the sidewalk.

If Dallas was in a good mood, Darry might call him Batman. If Dally was in a bad mood, Darrel would call him the grim reaper.

Darry reached out a hand, his mind set on eating the first thing he touched. When he pulled it back, he was face-to-shell with an egg. He blinked at it, wondering how he could consume it properly, before he shrugged, got a cup from the sink, cracked the egg, and drank it raw. He wanted to be quick today.

Dally had taken out a smoke and was puffing on it, smiling now and then when he heard Two-Bit cursing his rotten luck in the next room. He grimaced at Darrel.

"Damn, Superman, you couldn't even cook it first?"

Darry considered this, and shook his head. "No. I think we should leave and get what we need as soon as possible."

Dally shrugged, but behind his eyes (carefully concealed) was a hint of wonder and curiosity that made itself known among all of the dark and dankness that was Dallas Winston.

Darrel grabbed the keys to his truck and opened the door. "C'mon. Let's go."

* * *

There was silence between the two Greasers for a moment, and it would have been a peaceful one had Darry not had the full intention of breaking it.

And, because Darry always seemed to be rough without meaning to be, he came at the silence with a sledgehammer rather than a cautious tap of a finger.

"Alright, Dally, what's goin' on?" Darry asked as they approached railroad tracks. There was a train coming, a long one, so Dallas would have no choice but to stay in the car and wait it out no matter what Darrel said. Nevertheless, Darry inwardly sighed; now they would have to wait longer to get what they needed.

Dally remained cool and neutral, but Darry could feel his emotional shield turning a icey blue, daring someone to step on it so it would break and they would fall through.

"What do you mean?"

"Cut the shit, Winston." Darry swore in a dead voice, looking at Dally. The hood was stunned that Darry had cursed, and blinked once before his eyes narrowed. Darry only swore when he was angry, emotionless (which made it scary as hell), or vengeful. He smelled a fight. "You know what the fuck I'm talking about. Why the hell are you picking fights with every damn member of the gang? You're going after Two-Bit constantly, you argue with Steve more than usual, and you're so...angry, Dally, more angry than you should be." Darry suddenly slammed a hand against the steering wheel. His tone changed and became sharper. "Do you think that you're the only one who's angry? The only one who's worried? Because I'm worried sick, Dal. And you constantly hounding on everybody isn't helping at all!"

"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do, Darry?" Dallas asked, his dark tone almost matching Darrel's. "Who says I can't fight who I want to? _You?_ What are you gonna do, hit me like you did Ponyboy?"

Darry bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. That hit a nerve. Anger built up inside of the eldest Curtis like fire feeding off of dry wood. His veins burned red-hot and his temple throbbed with suppressed rage.

But he felt the strange urge to backtrack, look behind him, reconsider. Maybe...maybe Dally...had a point. And Darry just didn't want to fight. Didn't want to stand up or get up. Darrel actually wished to accept defeat.

"I didn't mean to." Darry relented quietly, loosening his previously tight grip on the steering wheel. He lifted a hand to the back of his head and tugged at the dark locks residing there. He had always liked his hair cut short; his cowlicks wouldn't look right in a longer style like everyone else's. "It just...happened. I'm sorry that it did. I won't ever forgive myself. I'm the reason he ran away."

Dally stared, again surprised with Darry. "Everyone gets angry sometimes."

"Not me, Dal. I'm not allowed to get angry."

Silence once more.

"I..." Dally coughed, and cleared his throat almost awkwardly. "I'm...sorry...that I've been pickin' fights."

"S'ok. Ponyboy and Johnny bein' gone is hard on everybody."

Dallas shifted in his seat, and Darry sent him questioning eyebrows. The hood had a well-hidden nervous look on his face and a faint rosey hue splashed across his high cheekbones.

"Are you ok?"

Dally nodded. Darry could have called him meek if he so desired and would have been correct. Why would he be sheepish?

Darry peered at Dally. Something had changed. Darry blinked. Where was Dally's shield? For some reason, Darry couldn't picture it anymore. It had been up only a moment beforehand...oh, wait, there it was, it was up now...but it wasn't ice blue...wait, was it...no. It couldn't be.

But it was.

Suddenly, Darry sat bolt upright in his chair with a loud gasp, effectively giving Dallas a heart attack. The teen gasped right back at him, clutching his chest and breathing in large amounts of air that he had lost. Darry gaped at his friend in disbelief. He could be wrong, but Darry was seldom wrong about these sorts of things. After all, he could see Dally's shield. The shield's never lied.

"You like Johnny." Darrel accused childishly, pointing a shaking hand at Dallas. The hood froze for a second, before he relaxed and sank back into the tattered seat. He was trying to put on a mask of coolness, but he had forgotten that Darry owned the shop and could see right through whatever fancy show he put on with stolen costumes.

"Sure. The kid's alright."

"No." Darry shook his head. He started bouncing up and down like freaking Ponyboy did when he was excited. "You _like like_ him!" Dallas eyes widened only a fraction, but that was enough for Darrel. "Oh my lord, YOU LIKE LIKE JOHNNY CADE!" He screamed, not able to help himself and feeling the need to broadcast this realization.

"WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP, DARREL!?" Dally screeched right back, the faint pink tinge now heavily showing through his pale cheeks. He wanted to sound smarter, but his scrambled mind had jumbled up his internal files and therefore couldn't find anything else to say. Dally punched at Darry's arm, but Darrel took the hit without feeling it.

Darry's mind raced at a rate that could have rivaled Einstein's. So Dally liked Johnny? But what did that mean? And wait hold up hang on did Johnny like Dally back? Did Dally _LOVE_ Johnny? No, no, he couldn't, never ever in forever, nope, _Dallas Winston didn't love_. Did he could he would he for Johnny? And pardon, please pause, but did all of that mean-

"Are you gay?" Darry blurted.

Dallas seemed slightly taken aback at the abrupt question, slamming the brakes on the speedy rollarcoaster that was Darrel Curtis's train of thought.

"I-you-he-no, I just-dammit, it's not like that-hell-" Dally uncharacteristically sputtered, trying to cover up his mistake and stop Darry from making any more assumptions, as right or wrong as they were. "I don't know, alright? I don't know. And I don't like the kid like that!"

Darry narrowed his eyes. The argument was beginning to heat up.

"Liar."

"Did you just call me a fucking liar?"

"You bet your pansy ass I did! How long have you liked him?"

"First off, that's none of your shit-"

"Hell yes it is, when you're being so obvious about it! Soon Two-Bit's gonna notice and ask what the hell is going on. And what are you gonna tell him?"

"That it's none of his shit, like, oh wait, like it's none of yours!"

"Dally-"

"Shut the fuck UP about it-"

"You're just upset that I guessed right!"

"You didn't guess anything!"

"Oh, stop bluffing and own up to it like a man-"

"I ain't gonna say it! Darrel, I don't like him-"

"Yes you do-"

"Stop acting like fucking PONYBOY! Glory, but he pries just as much as you do!"

"It's not prying if it's obvious." Darry repeated, rolling his eyes at the juvenile delinquent sitting in the seat next to him, and allowing them to stray for a minute. His electric-blue orbs caught something moving on the tracks.

"Has the train passed by us yet?" Darry asked suddenly.

Dally peered in the direction Darry was looking in, still irritated with the eldest Curtis. "No, it's one of those trains that're slow as hell." He heard a horn sound. "Never mind, here it comes. Thank fuck."

Dallas was right; the train was slow, but it was going fast enough. That was the problem.

"Dally."

"What?"

"There's a girl running towards the train."

" _What?_ "

And, if Darry could calculate the math correctly in his head, she was going to get run over by it in the next twenty seconds. She was wearing a black dress and no shoes, with bright blonde hair that fell to her waist in a braid. She carried something in her arms, a bundle that she had also wrapped in black.

"Dally, she's got a baby!" Darry realized with horror. "She's running at the train with...oh, gosh..." Darry and Dallas watched as she drew closer and closer.

Darrel shook his head. "I ain't watching this. I'll be right back." Darry unlocked the doors of his truck and hopped out. The second his feet touched the ground Darry started sprinting. He could hear Dally jumping out of the truck as well, running and calling after him, but there were other things to worry about at the current moment than appeasing Dallas Winston.

Feet pounding, back hurting, and sides aching, Darry was starting to really wish that he could run like Ponyboy. The young Greaser was the fastest out of the gang: a single mile took him about five minutes. The distance between Darrel and this girl seemed a lot longer than a mile, but somewhere in the back of his mind Darry assured himself that it was shorter than that.

Darry ran and ran and ran and ran, faster than he had ever tried to run before. He knew he would pay for it when he got home; his legs would kill him for days. But Darrel also knew that if he didn't make it in time, the girl currently running to her death was going to pay for it with not only her life, but the innocent life of another.

He was so close, only a few more feet now. Darry could hear the baby crying, most likely as a result of the loud noises surrounding it; the rush of the train on metal tracks, the gasping of the woman carrying it, and the horn of said train blaring such a piercing note that Darrel almost stopped to clutch and claw at his ears. But he was only a few steps away now, gaining on them. If he could tackle her out of the way, a smooth fluid move like they taught in football, then maybe, just maybe, Darry could get away with saving them.

(It might not strike a person immediently, but Darry was actually quite young and was capable of many things-his mind was the thing that was older and more serious. Yet, Darry exceeded in many physical challenges; though Ponyboy could run the fastest, Darry sprinted rather swiftly, as he was doing now. He could lift many tens of pounds over his head easily, because of what his roofing job required, and he could do handstands and flips and somersaults with no problem. His muscles stood to prove it. Yes, Darrel Curtis was young, and though his back might hurt him sometimes, he did a few physical things correctly. That was the reason why college's wanted him so badly; a smart, fit kid who could play a mean game of football.)

So, with the train speeding, lives at stake (including his own), and a brother now gone, the crazy-ass maniac that was known as Darrel Shaynne Curtis jumped.

Darry made sure it was a high one, and one composed entirely of length, so he wouldn't miss his target. He flew through the air like the Superman he was, until he collided with the reason he was doing this crap in the first place.

Darrel tucked his arms around the woman and the bundle tightly so that he would take most of the impact of the fall as they rolled out of midair. The train rushed past them not a second later, almost leaving a laughing wind to blow Darry's hair out of his face. Darrel honestly didn't care at the moment; he was too busy tucking and holding and ouch, did the ground have to be that hard?

The woman in his arms squirmed and wriggled until he finally let go of her, and she stood up quickly to check on the baby. Darry breathed on the grass for a millisecond, enjoying the smell and the feel of it's soft earthy comfort, and hauled himself to his feet, shaking his head to get the lightheaded feeling out of it. He felt a sharp pain in his arm, and cast it a glance: he was going to have a large bruise on the area where he had broken the fall.

"Are you ok?" Darrel asked, grabbing his arm and rubbing it for half of a moment. He nearly chuckled in the irony that he had asked Dallas that same question not two minutes before, in completely different circumstances.

The woman, satisfied with her baby's heath (it had stopped crying, most likely because it was surprised), shot Darry an unexpected glare.

"Why the heck did you do that!?" She yelled at him, her wide hazel eyes flashing.

Darrel didn't understand, but that didn't mean he wasn't slightly annoyed. He had risked his life to save her and her baby's. "You were running at the train! You were going to die!" He protested, letting go of his arm so he could point at the front of the train, now speeding away. There were still a lot of cars to go, however, which bought Darry time to figure out what was going on.

"That was the point!" She returned loudly, clutching the baby to her chest. Darry assessed her; she seemed to be seventeen or eighteen, with small hands and knobby legs that were stick thin and very weak-looking. Her plain black dress, now tattered and dirty from rolling on the ground, made her look even frailer. She wore no makeup. "To die!"

"And you were going to take the baby with you?" Darry shot back, gesturing to the bundle in her arms.

"Yes! I wasn't going to leave him all alone in this cruel place!" Tears came to her eyes, but she fought them down.

Darry shook his head at her. If he was going to die, he would _never_ drag Ponyboy or Sodapop down with him. They could survive without him, find a way out together. Ponyboy already thought Darry was out to ruin his life, so why should Darry matter to him? At all?

(Darrel almost began to cry himself, at the thought of not meaning anything to his youngest brother. Darry loved him so much, but he wasn't sure he was loved back. But that didn't matter, no it didn't. Emotions didn't matter. As long as Ponyboy and Sodapop were as happy as they could be, then Darry could be content. Not happy himself, but content knowing that his brother's were.)

"Darry! What the fuck was that?"

Two heads turned at the same time to see Dallas Winston jogging up to them, not as out of breath as he should have been. Years on the run from the fuzz probably helped with that. He slowed once he saw that they noticed him, and walked the rest of the way dragging a hand through his hair.

(Even if he didn't show it, he had worried for his friend and hoped that Darry wasn't sprinting to his death. Sodapop would kill Dally if he heard that the hood had allowed the oldest Curtis to do what he had done and failed. Or Ponyboy would when he came back with Johnny.)

"He saved me, and my child, if that's what you meant." The girl said bitterly. She glared at Dally too.

"Stop starin' at me, broad. I didn't do anything." Dally glared at her right back until she transferred her gaze to her feet. Yup, Dallas was sure intimidating, alright.

"Well, this idiot prevented me and my baby from dying, so I wouldn't be staring at you if he hadn't done anything." She defended, her eyes rising in challenge.

"So that's it then? No, 'Thank you sir,' or, 'You're ever so wonderful sir'?" Darry asked sarcastically. He actually wasn't seeking any credit (Darrel was more modest than he wanted to admit), but he wished for this girl to recognise that her baby wasn't dead.

The girl shook her head subbornly. She angered slightly. "Why couldn't you just let me die?"

"Because I've already let too many people die. And I'd hate to add you and your kid to the list." Darry said emotionlessly, with no emphasis on any word in the two sentances. "Why would you _want_ to die?"

Darrel truely, deep down, knew why somebody would take their own life, but it was heavily shrouded by wonder. Darry was a deep thinker, and that made him wonder and want to explore. There was so much to _do_ on earth, so many things that Darry hadn't gotten to do, and he'd really like to try them. And then there were all of the things that still needed to be _done,_ and weren't yet. But even his wonders were deep down; on his surface, Darrel had to be hard and strict and full of constant worry. Dallas, on the other hand, could relate to this girl more than one would think. He understood the wild urge to end all the misery, freeze all the sadness and pain, embrace the hell that awaited you because honestly, that torture looked better than the horrid life sentance you were condemned to live. Unlike this girl, though, Dallas had found a light in the dark, and dared to switch it on. Sure, there was black corruptness tainting his insides, but at least now he had smething to live for.

The baby began to cry, and the girl rocked it soothingly. She looked up at the two Greasers, and for the first time Darry could see a strange terror behind her eyes. And now, because he could properly see her eyes, Darrel could picture her shield; thick and tough, like bark. It seemed as if it had originally been a light caramel color, but now it looked so burned that it was nearly black. One edge of it was withered and charred, like someone had set a fire to it, and there were harsh lines drawn on the outskirts, lining the eges and exposing some of a nearly white inner core. The only shield that Darry had seen more battered than hers was Dally's.

"My life...isn't worth living anymore. It's too dangerous. For my baby and for me. He'll come for us if we don't get out." She explained, her upset dmeanor gone and replaced with sorrow.

"Who is _he?_ " Darry and Dallas asked at the same time.

"W-Well, h-he's supposed to be m-my husband." The girl stuttered nervously, tears gathering in her eyes and making them look even larger than they were. Dallas was strongly reminded of Johnny and his big brown puppy eyes. "B-But he just beats me. And then one day..." She blinked away the tears as best as she could and tried to say what else he had done, yet she could not say the word. She could only gesture at the baby. The Greasers got the message. "He was drunk. Angry at me, for some reason. And then it happened...and then I gave up. Is it so bad to give up?"

Darry shook his head again. "It is when you still have something to live for." He gestured towards the now silent baby.

The girl pursed her thin lips. "Bringing him into it is worse. He'll grow up beaten, abused, treated like trash. Maybe killed."

"What you were about to do was no better." Darrel pointed out. "Don't you understand? You have so many options besides death."

"Run away." Dally suggested out of no where. Darry silently agreed. Based on her siduation, that was her best option.

"Is it really that simple?" The girl asked desperately. "Please say it's that easy." She clutched her baby to her chest as she begged. Her eyes shined again.

"It is." Dally said, his voice rough as always. He nodded to the fields that could be seen in the distance. "You're like a needle in a haystack, broad. Go, and literally get lost."

She looked out at the tall grass, considering.

"Ok." She said finally. "I will." Making a move to walk away, Darry hoped for her wellbeing, but couldn't see her going very far. He let that fact be known as he halted her and told her to stay by the tracks until he and Dallas came back.

Darry raced back to his truck alongside the hood, started up the truck, and drove to the store. He bought the supplies that he and Dally had orginally come for, and pretended not to notice when Dally swiped a couple of things and hid them in his jacket. Darry also got a couple blankets and a large basket.

When they returned to that same spot, they saw that the girl was simply sitting and holding her baby close. They brought over the things they had gotten her, half bought and half stolen. She smiled and thanked them and stood up and took what they gave her gratefully. The trio chatted for a little while longer, before Darry checked his watch and claimed that he needed to go to work (he had taken the afternoon shift today so he could have his morning free).

"Thank you for everything you've done. You're too kind." The girl said.

Dally, always the tough guy, grumbled out a you're welcome, but Darry said his with a small smile.

The girl turned to leave, but Darry stopped her once more.

"What's your name?" Darry couldn't say why he wanted to know; he just did.

"Saren. And this is Levi." The girl answered, with a grin towards her baby boy. He gurgled back happily. "We gotta go now. See you two around!" She sent one last smile Darry and Dally's way, spun on her heel, took a deep breath, and walked away.

Darry watched her go. Saren's siduation made him appreciate what he had; a job, a house, two brothers, and the gang. He felt bad for her, and would have invited her to stay with them for a while, but Darry couldn't afford one more person plus a baby. He wished he could.

"C'mon, Darry, let's get out of here." Dally said, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter as he made his way to where Darry had parked his truck. Darrel followed him, and slung himself into his seat.

There was quiet. Now that Darry thought about it, there was a lot of quiet around the house and between people these days.

Darry pictured himself drinking the raw eggs that morning, in a rush and hurrying. He wondered; what if he had decided to cook the eggs? Or not eat anything? Then they would have missed the train.

And, Darrel concluded as he pulled up to the house to drop off Dally, two people wouldn't be alive.


	5. Moving Up and Moving Forward

**Jeez, but it's been a while! Sorry you guys had to wait so long for this chapter; during that time I was writing a oneshot and I've started on another Twilight fanfiction that I'll be posting soon!**

 **Anyways, I'll leave you to it. Go on, your eyes are already skipping down the page, I can tell. :)**

* * *

Ponyboy Curtis stepped out of the dark blackness of the church, his eyes searching for the sunset. Eventually he found it, and reveled in it's rich reds and oranges and yellows and pinks and how it all blended together perfectly. How did it manage to look so beautiful without even trying?

Well, maybe it _did_ try. Maybe it was trying to impress the moon or the sky or something.

The fourteen-year-old ran a hand through his newly bleached hair. He didn't like it-actually, he hated it with a passion, but Johnny had insisted, and Ponyboy had complied. It was too risky to keep his hair as long as it had been, what with people out looking for them and such. Far, far too risky.

Ponyboy watched the sun dip below the horizon. Boy, did he wish that he was at home right now. He'd do anything to hear a snicker form Steve, see a smirk from Dally. Hell, he even wanted to watch freaking Mickey Mouse on the floor next to Two-Bit.

More than anything, however, Ponyboy missed his brothers.

Not having Sodapop sleeping beside him wasn't exactly a comfort; Pony had consistently been woken up by Johnny in the middle of the night, his screams scaring the poor boy and also worrying him. The nightmares were worse than ever now, worse than after their parents died. Ponyboy, as always, could not remember what had frightened him; he could only recall horror, a color like ice, and red. There had been red. Everywhere.

But Pony didn't just miss Sodapop because of the comfort he gave; he missed his laugh and the way his eyes sparkled and his good-natured jokes. Soda was a light in Ponyboy's life, and now it seemed as if someone had held up a black sheet of paper in front of the light and it was having trouble getting though.

And then there was Darry, who had hit him.

Ponyboy forgave his older brother, because he loved him. Even though Sodapop was a mood-lifter and an upbringer and almost as close to Pony as Pony was with Johnny, Darry was a whole different picture. He was Ponyboy's protector, his caretaker, his Superman who wouldn't let his hand go and wouldn't let him fall even if that meant pitching himself over the ledge. Darry and Ponyboy were different; very different, but they did share many things in common as well. And Ponyboy wanted to find out more about his brother, talk to him some. Reassure him that he was forgiven.

Perhaps they could work things out and stop fighting so much. Ponyboy thought that he might try.

The sun finally sheathed itself from view, preparing to shine on the other side of the world. Ponyboy gazed after it, smiled slightly, and went back inside the old church. Hopefully, Dally would arrive to take him and Johnny home. Soon.

* * *

Darrel didn't get much sleep these days, and it was starting to seriously affect his life.

"DARREL!" His boss screamed in his face. Darry tried in a sort of desperate way to pay attention, and to be honest, he would rather collapse on the concrete floor than listen to another second of the booming noise bouncing around his head, but sadly, he had no choice.

"Yes, sir?" Darry returned as politely as he could while wiping lost sleep from his eyes. So what if he was sweaty and icky and gross? He was still tired. The heat made it worse, now that he thought about it; warmth had the tendency to lull Darrel to sleep. Not that anybody needed to know that. Especially his boss. Good lord, but Darry would fight a gang of Socs with his dominant hand (he was a righty) tied behind his back rather than get his boss involved in his personal life.

"Why the hell aren't you fully awake? You almost dropped hot tar on Tom's head, you dimwit!" The red-faced man pointed out angrily.

Darrel did not take kindly to being insulted. His eyes opened wider, showing off their dangerously cold pupils, and he crossed his arms over his chest. His boss gulped slightly; he'd die before he admitted it, but he found his most dedicated worker quite intimidating. Who wouldn't, with those muscles?

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm just tired. I'll work through overtime and I'll get my job finished. And I'll apologize to Thomas." Darry said, again raising a hand to wipe at his eyes. They were drooping, and he couldn't help it, despite his best efforts.

" _Just tired?_ " His boss (what was his name? Darry couldn't properly recall, he was so messed up. His gaze scanned the dark wood desk in front of him. _Mr. Anderson,_ the nameplate read. Oh, yeah. Right.) shot back almost accusingly. "That's the same excuse you've been giving me for the past five days, and quite frankly, I'm sick of it."

 _Well, I'm sick of this shitty job._ Darry thought, but didn't say out loud. Instead, what came out of his mouth was, "I said that I'd make up for it. I'll even take an earlier shift tomorrow if that makes you happy." Darrel really didn't want to, but he had to if it meant keeping his job. And anyway, the afternoon shift he had gotten yesterday was by pure luck; one of his co-workers had called in ill, so Darry snatched at the chance to eat a nice, long breakfast and actually take some time to read the newspaper.

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Mr. Anderson demanded, his eye twitching as he pointed a finger at Darry. "That you'll take an extra shift?"

"What more do you want?" Darry asked, quickly growing irritated.

"You to stop acting like an idiot and do your job right!"

"Will you stop insulting me? I'm not doing my job right because I'm tired! I'm worried about my brother and its wearing me out to a longer extent than I thought and you yelling at me isn't helping!" Darry protested loudly, his dark eyebrows pulling together in determination. "I'm one of your hardest workers here, and I deserve a little more respect. I work two jobs, and this is the one I give my all at. So if you're going to ignore that, then you might as well ignore me and let me go about my own buisness without calling me in because you don't like what I'm doing!"

Mr. Anderson stared and Darrel for moment, shocked to the point where he was debating firing the twenty-year-old on the spot. But his mind paused, and re-wound, and listened. Oh. So his worker was worried...about his brother...who was gone...and he worked two jobs, did he say...?

Jacob Malcom Anderson rarely took mercy on anybody, but looking at the exhausted man standing across from him, he decided that perhaps he could make Darrel one of those rare few. Anderson knew what the dark shadows and sickly complextion of the oldest Curtis meant. He had gone through nearly the same thing.

Darry's boss sighed out of the blue. Darrel raised a single curious eyebrow in his direction, awaiting the fate tha was bound to condemn him.

"I'm...sorry, Darrel. About your brother, and for being so hard on you. You're my best worker, and I'd like to keep it that way. So I'll cut you a deal." Mr. Anderson said. "I'll give you a promotion and a raise so you can quit your second job and only work here. And you'll have more vacation days and a freer work schedule." A grin split across Darry's face, but his boss held up a hand. "On one condition; you work an extra hour and a half each day. And you clean up the tar you spilled."

Darrel couldn't believe his good luck. "Thank you sir. I'd love to take you up on your offer."

"Good. Now clean up the mess you made and go home early, alright, Curtis?" Mr. Anderson smiled slightly and shook Darry's hand. As soon as his boss let go, Darrel flew out of his office to go clean up, and apologize to Tom.

Before he knew it, Darry had started up his truck and was pulling away form his work area and headed down the road, humming a song. This was great! Darry could quit his second job and be home more! He stopped humming for a second to let out a laugh and a whoop. This was the best thing that had happened to him since the gang found out Johnny wasn't hurt too bad from the beating he'd taken.

He slowed the truck once he approached his house, and then put it in park. Wasn't Sodapop home today? Maybe Darrel could tell him the great news. Running into the house with a big smile on his face, Darry called, "Sodapop! Soda! Little buddy, guess what happened?"

There was a bang, a crash, and then a strange quietness greeted Darrel. He paused in his excitement. Something felt...weird.

Darry walked throughout the house, starting in the living room and the kitchen until he heard a scuffling noise behind the room that Ponyboy shared with Sodapop. They really didn't _have_ to reside in the same room, but Pony had insisted Sodapop helped keep his horrid nightmares at bay. Darrel agreed when he saw the frightened sheen in his youngest brothers eyes; the fear that the nightmares brought with them scared the shit out of Pone, and Darrel wanted to protect his brother as much as he could. If that meant bunking with Soda for a little while, then so be it.

(Darry was slightly hurt that Ponyboy hadn't asked _him_ instead of Sodapop to stay with him at night. He felt as if he was knocked down a pedestal, and now Soda was Pony's protector. Little did Darrel know that Ponyboy actually did want to ask him; he was just scared his older brother would be as cold as ice like he always was and reject him. And Ponyboy knew he probably wouldn't handle that well.)

"Soda?" Darry approached the door, and heard a shushing noise. The handle was unlocked, and he pushed the door open.

Darrel walked in to see one firmiliar face and one unfirmiliar one: the face of his brother Soda, currently turning a bright shade of red, and the face of a teenage girl that looked to be about Soda's age with light brown hair, also turning a nice tomato color. They didn't seem to be wearing clothes.

"Hey Dar. You're home early." Sodapop said weakly. He had beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

"What's going on here?" Darry asked sharply, his happy demeanor gone faster than the blink of an eye. "Nevermind. You," He pointed to the girl, who was clutching the sheets of the bed. "Please leave. I need a word with my brother."

She bit her lip, and motioned for Darrel to give her some privacy. He obliged and looked away as she changed into her clothes, and then skirted past him to the door.

Darry waited a moment, until he heard the front door slam shut. "Sodapop Patrick Curtis. What the hell was she doing naked and in Ponyboy's bed?" The bed wasn't really Sodapop's; the middle Curtis had his own room just down the hall.

Said Curtis stood up and wrapped the sheets around his waist, but his head was bowed in submission. He knew that Darry was mad, and he had every right to be. Soda was in the wrong.

"We were just..."

"Just what? Just what exactly were you doing, Soda?"

Sodapop didn't answer.

"Tell me." Darry already knew, but he wanted his brother to say it out loud.

"Wewerehavingsex." Sodapop spat out in a rush. He lifted his head to glance at his brother, who had his arms crossed and a gleam in his eye. That was never good.

"And why were you having sex, Soda?" Sodapop opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Darry continued as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe this, Soda, I really can't believe this. How could you be so wild and irresponsible at a time like this?"

"It was just sex!"

"And did you use protection?"

"...Well, no, but-"

"No but's. What the hell were you thinking? I don't need some random girl knocking on our door and shoving a test in your face and saying "Damn it, you got me pregnant, you better be a good dad!" What would we do then, Soda?"

"I wanted to get my mind off of things-"

"So you resorted to sex-?"

"Yes, Darry!" Sodapop yelled, fed up and tired. "I don't want to think anymore! Not about _her_ , not about _him_ , not about her child or if he's dead or anything! I didn't want more pain, so yes, Darry, I turned to pleasure instead! She was just a girl!" His voice cracked a little on the last sentence: Darry thought he might be thinking of Sandy.

And Darry could see it then; Sodapop's shield. It was a light caramel color with undercurrents of brown and yellow that sparkled and seemed edible, and would have been perfectly intact and untouched had there not been a giant X-like mark covering most of the middle. As Darrel watched, the deep cut began to weep a dark substance that could not be named, the liquid running down to the rim. It dripped onto the floor, but when Darry looked there was no substance there.

Because of his, Darry paused for a moment and bit his lip. He had realized the problem.

Darrel couldn't _relate_ to Sodapop, couldn't see a good reason why he had done what he did. Darry just didn't go out with many girls anymore (he had dated some in high school, but they were mostly cheerleaders who threw themselves at him after a game), and not only because he lacked the time; he lacked the interest. No girl Darry had met so far caught his eye as something special or something to fight for, which meant he wasn't like the rest of the gang constantly sleeping around with any greasy broad they could scrape up.

To everyone else, he must have been thought of as insane. Didn't he have needs? He was a grown man after all. Darry was irrated to say yes, he did have needs like every normal person. He didn't say how he...um... _filled_ them, to an extent. Damn Two-Bit always bugging him about sex.

Darrel yanked his mind away from it's thoughts and back on the original track. Since Darry hadn't been in a serious relationship before, he really wouldn't know what it would be like to lose somebody you loved like that. (Of course Darry had loved his parents and lost them, and he loved Ponyboy and might lose him, but those two things were different.) Darry knew pain, more than he was willing to let on, but he didn't know that specific kind of pain. And if you had pain that bad, wouldn't you be willing to get in a little trouble to erase it?

Darry took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about Sandy, Sodapop." He said quietly. Soda's eyes gathered tears.

"Yeah, well, I am too." Sodapop sniffed, and then rubbed the back of his neck, glad his brother's anger was gone. He looked up at his older brother's unmoving stance.

(Emotions these days didn't really last in Darrel anymore. They faded very quickly and took a long time to call back. For now, Darry was a neutral, cool shell that felt nothing saw everything and hurt everywhere. That was the pain Darrel Curtis knew.)

"That doesn't mean you have to drown yourself in other people to forget her."

"There is no other people, Darry. Everybody's gone." Soda made a small gesture towards Ponyboy's empty bed. Roughed-up, messy bed, but indeed empty. Even though Sodapop had just left the sheets, a stagnant air hung around it, as if someone had abandoned it for a long time and had never come back.

"Not everybody's gone. You've got Steve, and the gang. I'm here. And soon, Ponyboy will be too." Darry said solemnly, as if it were a promise. His icey eyes melted, but only slightly.

Sodapop's face split into a sudden smile, and he rushed at the older male to give him a hug. Darrel wobbled a little, not expecting several tens of pounds to be thrown at him, but he caught himself. The two brothers shared a tight hug, and the shredding string that symbolized the bond between them slowly began to weave itself back together.

They pulled away after a few more seconds.

"Why did you think you didn't have anybody, Sodapop?" Darry asked.

Sodapop shrugged through the few tears that had fallen, relaxing his mental and emotional muscles. They were way too strung out. "I don't know...Steve thinks that we should still act all tough...Two-Bit's always out drinkin'...you're working-"

 _Not so much anymore._ Darrel thought excitedly, and opened his mouth to tell his brother the good news.

"And Dally's gone off somewhere."

Darrel froze. "What? Where did he go?"

Sodapop froze as well. "Um...he didn't say." He lied, trying to cover up his slip.

Darry could tell a lot of things, and he could always tell when his brother was lying. "Sodapop, you tell me where he went right now."

Soda almost sighed. He liked Nice Comforting Big Brother Darry better than Worried Anxious Unemotional Darry. But he was staring Soda down with those intimidating ice eyes. He could have sworn he had seen them soften not a minute before. Oh well. Might as well say it. Dallas was going to kill him, but by the look on Darry's face, Sodapop was halfway there already.

"Windrixville. Up north." He finally relented, defeated and overruled.

"Why? Doing what?"

"He said something about finally bringing the gang back together..." Soda breathed out in a nervous huff. "...and getting Ponyboy."


	6. Reunited

**Hiya! Sorry for the kinda sorta longish wait. The beginning was just dragging and I didn't feel like writing that part, but I made it. I hope you guys like this next chapter! THIS IS THE CHAPTER WHERE THINGS REALLY TAKE OFF! :) So after writing this chapter, the next ones should come by super fast; these past chapters have been a sort of intro, and this one kind of breaks the chain and starts a whole new color of links. Also, a quick disclaimer; the quotes and scene setup towards the end of the chapter belong to S.E. Hinton! And all spelling mistakes and stuff are all on me, because at the moment I don't have a beta (but I think I can go without having one for a little while longer...maybe).**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"Darry," Sodapop said in a soft voice. "You should move."

Darrel pulled swiftly away from the slow bubbling simmer that was his thoughts. He didn't tear his gaze from the driveway. He had only been sitting in the chair by the window. What was the matter?

"I'm just sitting, Soda." Wow, his voice sounded bad. When was the last time he had used it? Darry couldn't recall properly, but he guessed it wasn't important. If it was important, someone would have bothered him about it.

Or maybe that's what Sodapop was doing. Bothering him about not speaking.

"I know, Darry, but you've been sitting there for a while now." Soda's tone quivered a little.

Darry felt his dark eyebrows pull together slightly as his eyes (they were blurry and felt sticky when he blinked) traced the cracked lines of the concrete sidewalk for the fiftieth time. "How long?" Surely an hour or two had passed, perhaps three, but the eldest Curtis hadn't bothered to keep track.

"A day, honey. You've been sitting there for a day." Darry felt the pause hang in the air, before a hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned his head in the direction of the hand, and heard the sickening sound of his neck cracking. Darry finally looked at Sodapop, who was dressed for work in his DX overshirt and plain medium-washed jeans. Underneath his shirt was a white tank top; it had a few wet droplets of Darry-didn't-know what.

Darrel blinked, and mentally swatted at the warm fog that had begun to envelope his mind like a thick blanket. He had to stay alert and on the surface. Did he have work today? Oh, gods, was he late? His boss was going to dock his pay and take back the promotion if he was late!

"What time is it?" Darry asked as he practically yanked himself out of the hard wooden dining chair, his still-blurred eyes searching for the clock. He stumbled as his legs failed to hold his weight (they were most likely still asleep), proceeding to trip over the leg of the small but sturdy dining table and fall face-first onto the floor. Sodapop hadn't tried to save him; Darry had too much muscle mass and would end up dragging his brother down with him.

Darry embraced the cool feeling of the floor, but didn't quite enjoy the pain in his nose that followed said feeling. His thoughts were more along the lines of _Ow, fuck,_ rather than _Wow, the floor feels good._ He laid there for a moment, not wanting to get up. He'd just stay here on the floor for the rest of forever and not move and then everything would eventually work out without his help, right? Things could hold their own.

 _What about money, Darrel? And bills? And work? And cooking because none of the gang can besides you?_ His mind reasoned, carefully flinging the thoughts at him like flicking the cards out of a deck.

Darry knew in the back of his head that he would get up without his mind to supply reasons, but nonetheless remained on the floor a second longer, one of his eyes level with the ground. He thought that seeing closer to the floor was interesting; instead of giving you a birds-eye view, you got the perspective of an ant, crawling slowly to it's destination, with seemingly miles and miles left to go for it that were only really a step or two for a human.

Darrel pictured a little ant moving across the floor, proudly carrying it's prize; a sweet leaf or a bitter piece of a nut.

Then he pictured someone stepping on it.

Darry frowned. Poor imaginary ant.

Not wanting to think about defenseless bugs getting squashed, Darry picked (more like heaved) himself up from the floor. Sodapop was watching his brother with a matching frown of his own.

"About four in the afternoon." He finally answered Darry's initial question.

Confused, Darry looked at Sodapop. That couldn't be possible. He had just gotten home from work, and that had been at five o'clock. How long had he been sitting there? But glory, he didn't know; it all felt like one big giant blurred blob of thought and contemplation and emotions that the eldest Curtis couldn't quite place. He had presumed that it would be alright to stay that way for a little while, in the web of limbo that he had been so helplessly entangled. Alas, someone would come along eventually to cut him out of the silky threads, rousing him awake like a cold splash of water to the face.

"Like I said, Dar, you've been sittin' there for a while." Was all Sodapop offered. He moved away and began to take off his work uniform."I called your boss to tell him you wouldn't be coming into work today, and he let it slide. Said you got a promotion." Soda sent his older brother a smile. "Why didn't you tell me?"

With every comforting word that escaped Sodapop's mouth, Darrel woke up a small bit more, feeling more like his usual self. Lighter, but at the same time fuller. Darry had the ability to do that; shut down and lock his emotions away for long periods of time when he needed to, and then call back the few that were necessary to live the life that he was living.

(A lot of the time Darry forgot to beckon forward emotions that beneifited others in a secret, special way. For instance, Sodapop wished that Darry would love more. His happy-go-lucky personality didn't disregard the fact that his older, much colder brother was sometimes _too_ cold, or too unfeeling. Soda didn't know what kind of love he wanted his brother to love; maybe love Ponyboy some more, or let him know he was loved. Perhaps get a pet, a tiny dog or cat to take care of. There was always a loophole to these things, however, Darry unconsiously found a way: Ponyboy was doing the wrong, and of course Darry loved him, but he needed to learn. And they couldn't afford a pet. Darrel wanted to save up money to help his brothers. See though, what Sodapop didn't know was that Darrel Curtis loved, loved way more than any seven average people put together. However, in order for Darry to love specifically the way Soda wished him to, Darrel would have to let his walls tumble down. He would have to lower his shield. And honestly, Darry didn't know if he could ever do it. That fact made him sad sometimes.)

Darry awoke fully, and grinned a small grin at Sodapop. Soda relished it; his brother rarely let any sort of smile grace his features. "I was going to tell you, but you seemed a little...ah, _busy,_ in Ponyboy's room."

Sodapop's cheeks stained red. "Shut up teasin' me, Dar, or else Two-Bit's gonna hear and the jabs will be going for weeks."

Darrel shook a mock-stern head in Soda's direction. "You deserve it, little buddy. You do stuff like that, and you gotta embrace the terror of it all." He glanced at the clock, now being in a state where he could recall where it resided. His jaw dropped. "Glory, but you were right. I've been sittin' there for hours."

"A day." His brother corrected, pulling off his shoes.

Darry shook his head again, this time ruefully. Damn it, but that was valuable time wasted. He sighed. "Sorry, Soda."

Sodapop shrugged at him easily. "S'ok, Darry. What were you doin' sittin' there so long anyway? Fantasizing about killing Dally for not telling you?"

The eldest Curtis thought that his fists would be good enough. After all, they'd never find the murder weapon. "Nah, I've already got everything planned out. And I was just thinkin'...about Ponyboy and what I'm gonna say to him."

The two Curtis's shared a look, accompanied by a heavy silence. Sodapop had forgiven Darry, but neither of them were sure about their other brother. Soda could usually anticipate Pony's feelings on certain topics, yet even he wasn't completely sure. And if Sodapop wasn't positive, then Darry was downright lost; even though he knew that the wounded, hurt look on Ponyboy's face brought forth a vauge sketch. "And what are you gonna tell him?"

"That I'm sorry. But after that, I have no idea. I guess it all depends on how he reacts..." Darrel sighed, tears beginning to prick the back of his eyes. He rubbed his face with his hands. "He's going to hate me, Soda. He's going to hate me forever." And what a truely horrid fate that was, your own blood despising your very exsistance. Good lord, Darry wouldn't be able to take that.

"Aw, Dar, no he-"

The telephone rang, cutting off Soda in the middle of his reassurance. Since he was the closest, said person gave Darrel a look and answered it.

"Hello?" Sodapop greeted in his usually friendly, cheery way. Darry watched him listen for a minute.

"Yes." Sodapop said tentatively, the color slowly beginning to drain from his face. His eyes widened. "How?" He asked suddenly, panic laced in his voice. Darry's eyebrows pulled together as they usually did when he was puzzled (his happy brother rarely looked as if somebody had punched his best friend in his face) and he began walking towards his brother as if to take the phone.

Soda saw him coming and held out a hand. "We'll be over right away." He hung up.

Darrel felt off-putted, and rightly so. "Why wouldn't you let me talk? What's going on?"

Breathing in harshly, Sodapop ran a hand through his hair. "It's-it's Ponyboy and Johnny and Dally."

"What happened?" Darry still wasn't catching on, but he knew that it was bad. But what could possibly be worse than killing somebody? The fuzz? Had the fuzz caught them and now they were all waiting at the police station? Oh, glory, but they would lock up Dallas in an instant without so much as a pause to let the hood get a single word in.

The middle Curtis grabbed onto his brother's arm and started dragging him towards the door, babbling as quickly as his mouth would allow. "They're in the hospital, there was a fire and they think they're all hurt real bad-"

As soon as those words escaped, Darry was the one dragging Soda to the door, and his truck keys were in his shaking hands in the next moment. The door burst open, and the two boys ran to the vehicle.

Darry was now trembling fully as he turned the key in the ignition, his body and mind racing with more emotions than he was used to having at once. It was a sort of rush; exhilarating in a way, however it was a rush that Darrel couldn't control and couldn't organize. Therefore, he was left no choice but to let his thoughts zip around a track that they didn't know the ending to.

He was nervous, he decided, and worried and anxious and relieved and excited and happy and sorrowful and angry and devastated and was everybody alright was everybody ok and was more importantly his brother alright and what if Ponyboy hated him and shit shit _shit!_

Darrel slammed his foot on the gas pedal, and they sped down the road.

* * *

"We're the siblings of Ponyboy!" Sodapop gasped to the first floor receptionist, almost flying into the plain white hospital. Darry came in just as quickly, but he preferred half-sprinting rather than practically leaping. His nose wrinkled as it was hit with the smell of the place; a strong, sharp reek of cleaning chemicals and bleach. The once-football player had pulled a few muscles a broken a couple bones and ended up here, but no matter how long he had been away from it, that smell made his sinuses scream their protest.

The young, pretty brunette woman started at Sodapop, not used to people rushing into the hospital with that much enthusiasm. Sure, people loved to get _out,_ but she didn't think that anyone would like to get _in._

It then occurred to the girl that this handsome blonde teenage boy was two seconds away from wringing her neck because she hadn't yet responded. Nonetheless, she raised a cool eyebrow at him.

"That nice, sir, but I really don't know any Ponyboy. I'm sure he'd be...um...happy to see you." The woman returned. "Maybe if you told me what his last name was and when he was brought in I could help you." She realized that she had spit the words out with a mean bite, and felt immiediently sorry as the brown-eyed boy in front of her let his shoulders sag a little, some of his previous pep gone. Shyly, she sent a small smile.

Sodapop regained his composure. "I'm so sorry, miss. His last name is Curtis and he was brought in about an hour ago."

"And are you his guardian?"

"That would be me." Darrel confirmed in his deep voice, Sodapop moving aside so his brother could take his place.

The receptionist swallowed as she looked up at the towering frame of Darry. His eyes were so bright, but in a cold way. He was actually quite handsome as well, but gave off a completely different aura; more serious, housing more quiet power. Add that to his muscles and he was one intimidating man. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

The young woman coughed to get rid of the lump in her throat. Telling herself to get a freaking grip (she had once seen a tall, drunken dirty man stumble inside and start a fight with one of the mentally handicapped patients, and that had been scary as hell) she asked politely, "Your full name, sir?"

"Darrel Shaynne Curtis, older brother of Ponyboy Michael Curtis. Aged 20, currently employed, and yes, I have permission and custody of my younger brother." Darry said all at once. He knew what to say because he had heard his father say it when they had to bring Sodapop in one time for breaking his wrist (he had jumped a fence; not the smartest idea at ten years old, but this was Soda they had been talking about). He just changed up a few of the words.

The receptionist did not ask questions as to how the man knew to say all that, but she chose to become Switzerland and not start an argument of any sort. She searched for his file in the new stack that had been set next to her.

"Alright, Mr. Curtis, your brother is on the third floor, the burn wing." She finally announced after a minute of digging. "The elevator is right over-"

When the woman looked up, the two brothers were gone. She blinked, and inwardly declared that she was only the receptionist. She knew nothing. So if anybody got murdered or hauled off it was not her fault.

Darry and Soda were already in the elevator, and the latter was furiously punching the little number 3 button, feeling the need to screech at it to hurry.

The former was twisting his hands together, a habit he had picked up when he was nervous. What would his brother's relation be? Was he ok? Would he hate Darry? The eldest Curtis prayed that Ponyboy would accept his apology. Darrel loved his brother so much that it hurt.

The elevator car finally reached the floor and Sodapop grabbed his brothers arm like he had inside of the house and began to run. Running in a hospital was quite dangerous, especially in a unit as intense as the burn, as you could slam into somebody who was badly injured or knock over an expensive piece of equipment. But the Curtis brothers, though not as fast as Ponyboy, were agile and had a good storage of stamina and clear eyesight, so they managed to get almost all the way through the unit without stopping or killing anybody.

A few doctors called for them to halt, but they payed them no mind, because they were so so so close and turn down this hall and round that corner and dodge that wheelchair and duck under the IV and vault over the empty stretcher and then

there.

There he was. Darry's youngest brother, Ponyboy Curtis, sitting in the blue chair outside the door of a room, next to an older-looking paramedic, strangely in the middle of smoking a cigarette, despite emerging from a fire. His face and neck was covered in black soot, which made his green eyes almost glow, and his hands were reddened. His hair had changed drastically; it was a bright blonde, brighter than Sodapop but darker than Dally, an it was cut a little shorter, but not as short as Darry. And he was thin, really thin; he had lost so much weight it was frightening.

Sodapop and Darry paused running for a second, just standing and catching their breath as they looked at their lost brother. Sodapop couldn't wait any longer when Ponyboy looked up tiredly and saw them. His eyes locked on Soda, and he jumped up and ran to him. They hugged while Darry watched from a few feet away, letting the, have a moment. After all, Ponyboy loved Sodapop the best.

"You dyed your hair." Sodapop breathed when they parted, running a hand through his brother's newly blonde hair. Ponyboy smiled at him, and opened his mouth to explain, when he saw Darry.

The moment he met eyes with his brother, Darrel's heart skipped three beats, stopped, and then restarted. The time, the distance between them seemed to lengthen, freeze, hold them captive in its clutches. Darry was afraid, more afraid now than when Ponyboy had been away, because that silence this second was so important and if Darry broke it because he was always rough without meaning to be then everything would be over forever and ever and ever.

"Ponyboy..." Darry called softly, his throat dry.

Pony's smile melted. He was probably going to yell at him in the next two seconds, and Darrel braced his shield in front of him as best he could, prepared for the horrible onslaught. Darry could barely think the words _Oh, no_ before Ponyboy was sprinting at him and was jumping and suddenly Darrel had an armful of weight slamming into his front.

Ponyboy clutched at him tightly, more tightly than he had ever hugged his brother. Darry grabbed him just as tightly back, feeling like crying with relief.

"Darry," Ponyboy gasped into his brother's shoulder. He pulled away, but stayed within Darrel's vice-like embrace. Tears were streaming down his face, smearing the soot that stubbornly retained its place there. Darry reached a single hand up, keeping his other arm locked around his brother, and wiped at some of them. He knew that he was crying as well, the tears breaking through the carefully built dam behind his eyes, but the blocks of cement might as well have been made out of sand because they weren't holding up now. Darry didn't mind.

"Darry, I'm sorry!" Ponyboy sobbed. Why was he apologizing? He hadn't done anything wrong. Out of all the times to take the blame, he chose now. Darry smiled at him faintly through his crying, but it too faded as well.

"Oh, Pony." Darry said. "I thought we lost you like we did Mom and Dad." His voice broke on the last part, and he finally let it all out as Ponyboy teared up again and returned to hugging him like he was never going to let go.

Sodapop joined them after a while, but that was lost in the tears and the hugging of the three. All that Darry could think about was Ponyboy and how much he loved him and that boy, but they had a lot of catching up to do.

* * *

"Sodapop, could you drive?" Darry asked, gesturing to Ponyboy who was currently hanging onto his older brother's shirt. Darrel supported his weight with no problem; Pony had weighed the same as a feather before he had gone, but now that he had lost so much he felt like nothing.

Soda nodded and caught the keys Darry threw at him, unlocking the old truck and hopping into the drivers seat. Darry opened one of the doors in the back, and eased his tired brother in and then slipped beside him.

"Thanks Darry. Thanks Soda." Ponyboy mumbled as he curled up into the seat. The two brothers said back their quiet 'You're welcome's' as Sodapop pulled the truck out of the parking lot.

Ponyboy continuously attempted to explain everything that happened, but Darry and Sodapop repeatedly shushed him and told him to tell them in the morning until Pony took the hint and allowed himself to try to fall asleep. Darry and Soda remained silent the entire way home, not wanting to wake up their clearly exhausted brother. Darrel rubbed circles on Ponyboy's back to help lull him.

Darry wondered about Dallas and Johnny. Now that Ponyboy was alright and the most prominent situation delt with, he could afford to let his mind his mind drift.

Dallas was alright; his arm left arm was burned badly, however, and he had several bad cuts on his other arm and the back of his neck. Ponyboy was in slightly worse condition, his hands suffering first-degree burns, his lungs needing time to properly recuperate because of smoke inhalation, and there was a big purple bruise that was blossoming on his back where he claimed Dally had accidentally hit him and knocked him unconscious. Johnny had it the worst, though. Red-hot beams that had fire locking up their sides had fallen on his back, and his chest and legs were burned worse than Dally's arm. The doctors didn't know what to say, other than to request time.

They might not have time, Darrel had told them.

We can't do anything more than we already are, they had shot back.

At which point Darry cursed doctors and their slowness and walked away.

"We're here." Sodapop said softly, turning the key and shutting down the truck. Darry glanced at Ponyboy; he was sleeping. Darrel opened the truck door, and lifted his brother out.

Sodapop chuckled. "He's gettin' a little big to be carried."

Darry sent a smile as he walked to the porch and opened the door to the house. He knew that the rest of the gang would be hungry to find out what happened, and he would keep them at bay for as long as he could.

Darry walked to the bedroom that Ponyboy shared with Soda, and laid him down. He left to go get ready for bed himself, and by the time he came back, Sodapop had curled up next to his brother. Smiling, Darrel began to tread the path to the room he claimed as his own, looking forward to a good night's sleep.


	7. Play With Fire and Thee Shall be Burned

**Yeah, chapter seven, woo! Nothing too big on this chapter; it's a little intense in the beginning, and that's followed by a round of brotherly fluff! And yes, we all like the straight-to-the-point shizzz most of the time, but sometimes we need some fluff to build ground for the story. So for all you readers who like a little fluff, here it is! It was so much fun to write, and the next chapter should follow up this one pretty quickly because I have so many ideas bouncing around in my head.**

 **Also; I've decided a little bit of this story will be told in Ponyboy's point of view, but I promise that it will still center around the main character and the plot of his persona (whom is Darry. Duh.), so if you don't see a lot of his point of view in this chapter, don't stress! He hasn't left quite yet.**

 **But you've listened to the imaginary voice that maybe sounds like me yapping in your mind for long enough. Thank you for all of the favorites and follows! All spelling mistakes belong to me. Other than all that, happy reading!**

* * *

 _Ponyboy was standing in the fire, and he wasn't getting burned._

 _He didn't understand why, or how that was possible, but he let that fact be as it may. Who was he to complain? Stand in one of the hottest things on earth and not feel the pain of it all? That was practically cheating death, and Ponyboy had the strangest feeling that doing so_ was _quite hard to accomplish indeed._

 _Pony squinted. Oh, wait a minute, he had been wrong before; the thing protecting him from the fire was this oval-shaped see-through bubble. It seemed rather fragile, but if it was keeping the flames at bay and him safe, then it must be strong._

 _The fire, it turned out, was everywhere. Like everywhere; Ponyboy rotated his head left and right and up and down and all he saw was fire red fire red fire orange yellow fire protective bubble keeping him safe fire red orange fire red red red...and fire. Not too much to look at._

 _Pony turned his head to where he had originally been gazing, and saw Johnny ahead of him and facing him as well. Ponyboy was puzzled as to how his best friend got there, but waved nevertheless with a smile._

 _Johnny, however, didn't seem too glad to be standing in the middle of a freaking firepit. Ponyboy noticed that there was no protective bubble surrounding his buddy, and ditched the waving thing and started to gesture for him to get alongside Pony in the bubble. Johnny merely shook his head sadly, and began to cry. As Ponyboy watched, Johnnycakes began to burn away, bit by bit by bit. It was horrible and truely scarring; Johnny's feet and legs shrivled and burned until his muscle and bone could be seen spilling out blood. The flames worked their way up his body, the process never stopping. Ponyboy was rooted to the spot in terror as he watched his friend turn to dust._

 _Soon it was over, and Ponyboy's initial horror was interrupted when he heard a loud sound to his right. Turning, he saw a dark cloaked thing carring a scythe watching him, pulling back from its action of wailing. It's eyes were a bloody red, the color of Johnny's recently spilled insides, and they hid underneath the hood. Ponyboy knew that it was evil and that it wanted to get him, but it was trapped inside of a cage that had no roof. It wasn't coming for him because six chains were holdng it down. The thing grinned, flashing it's pointed teeth, and eyed one of the chains in anticipation. Said chain melted away like Johnny had only moments beforehand. Ponyboy's eyes widened; if the rest of the five chains went away, the young Greaser would be dead for sure._

 _"Ponyboy!"_

 _Two-Bit was standing a few feet from where Johnny had burned, looking confused. Suddenly, he noticed the flames licking up his body and yelled out in shock. He burned away the same as Johnny, yet the only difference was that he left a taunting chuckle in his place. The sound bounced around and echoed and didn't fade. Ponyboy tried putting his hands over his ears, but to no avail._

 _The next chain melted. The hooded evil grinned even wider, and chanted a quiet hymn. Soon, little demons appeared out of thin air, his assistants, possibly, and started circling his head and scythe. They giggled, adding to the torture of listening to Two-Bit's tone._

 _Dallas ran in, looking wildly around. The fire ate at him, turning the switchblade he was holding into nothingness. Once Dally realized what was happening, he simply froze in his movements and lifted his head towards the nonexsistant sky. He smiled slightly, and whispered, "Now I'll be with you, Johnny." Right as his hair caught on fire. Soon he was nothing. The whisper, like Two-Bit's chuckle, echoed repeatedly and did not die out._

 _Ponyboy reached out a hand as if to stop it, but it was really no use; another chain faded, and the figure summoned more shadows. Was it getting bigger?_

 _Pony was crying, and wished that he could look away from who was going to burn next, but he was stuck as if he was confined in the same chains as the dark evil. His brother Sodapop stood there now, grinning a happy grin as he saw his brother._

 _No, Ponyboy thought. Not him, not my brother!_

 _Soda seemed to notice that Ponyboy had a bubble around him, and nodded. He frowned as he did so, and called for his best friend. As always, Steve came to Sodapop's side, and also saw the bubble. Sodapop's mouth moved rapidly as he pointed, explaining something. All the while, the fire ate them, and they payed it no mind. When it got up to their waists, they stopped in their conversation and hugged. They parted, and Steve burned away first. Sodapop bit his lip hard, but turned and said to his brother, "Don't worry. I'll see you soon."_

 _The flames consumed his brother. Ponyboy let out a wild yell, followed up by a weak sob. At the moment, he wished more than anything that they could trade places. His brother was dead. The happy-go-lucky Sodapop was gone._

 _The sounds created by everybody were beginning to build up, layer on top of each other in a cycle that didn't end. The noise, the whispers, they were driving him insane. In the next second, the bubble protecting Ponyboy cracked, but it wasn't a major one. Still, it was a crack, and it worried him. The sharp noise joined the others._

 _Two chains disappeared at once. The evil was almost free, and it knew it too. It chanted louder, and louder, and louder, it's monsters abandoning their giggling and resorting to the most maniac-like cackling Ponyboy had ever heard. He wished he didn't have to hear or see anymore. He didn't want to watch what came next._

 _But he had to._

 _Because out came Darry, the last remaining member of the gang and the only one that Ponyboy had. He seemed to be struggling with something, and his eyes glowed a clear-blue color for a split-second before returning to their usual pale blue-green iceyness. Whenever Darry transferred his gaze to the bubble, the large oval began to hum, and the large crack in it absorbed itself and started to heal. It hit Ponyboy then; Darry was the one protecting him from the fire, making sure he didn't get burned like everybody else._

 _Ponyboy didn't give a shit anymore. He wanted his brother out of the fire._

 _Take my place! He screamed, praying that Darry would hear him. Don't die! Please!_

 _Darry took a moment to glare at the figure. It, for the first time, tore it's eyes away from Ponyboy to hiss at the eldest Curtis. Darry stared at it some more. He stopped, the flames devouring his knees, and rubbed at his eyes. Tears raced down his cheeks in rivers that didn't pause flowing, and soon gave up. Ponyboy was also sobbing again, and that was because he knew what was going to happen in the seconds to come._

 _The evil let out a screech, as the last chain, the thickest and heaviest one, began to dissapate. Ponyboy shook his head at his brother, wishing that it would all just stop and everyone would come back. Darry smiled at his brother through his tears. His mouth opened, and Ponyboy heard him through all of the noise and laughing and screeching and hissing and voices and whispers and echos._

 _"I love you, Ponyboy."_

 _The fire finished the job it started, and Darry's burning ended, as there was nothing left of him. At the same time, the bubble around Ponyboy shattered, the shards raining down on him from above._

 _The evil could now escape. It did so joyously as it exited the cage, laughing crazily as it swooped towards the fearful Greaser, it's shadows following in it's wake._

 _Ponyboy couldn't even scream, because the flames had reached up and covered his mouth._

* * *

"Ponyboy! Wake up, wake up!"

Somebody was shaking him, and Ponyboy figured that it must be Darry, because whomever this person was clearly had no definition of _gentle_ it their dictionary.

His throat; Pony cough and hacked a few times, trying to get the weird acidic taste out of it. Now this person was pounding on his back harshly, as if they _wished_ for him to vomit. Ponyboy reached out with the hand that wasn't clutching his heart (how did that get there?) to put all of this moving to a pause.

"W-Who's-" Pony coughed again. "Who's there? S-Stop sh-shakin' m-m-me!" His heart was racing and his mind was filled with fear, but he didn't dare try to move away; this thing might come after him.

The moving stopped. "It's me, Ponyboy, it's Sodapop."

"Soda?" Ponyboy blinked the white fog out of his eyes, and turned in the direction of the worried voice.

Sure enough, there sat Sodapop Patrick Curtis, unscathed, unharmed, and unburned. _Still alive!_ But how was that possible? Had Ponyboy been having a nightmare again? He felt his cheeks; they were wet with tears.

"I'm here, Pony. Are you ok?" Sodapop reached out a hand to run through his brother's hair. Ponyboy's tightly-wound string of terror unraveled slightly, yet he could offer no true answer to the question.

"Where's the gang?" He asked instead, fighting his sudden desperate curiousity and panic down. Nonetheless, he could hear himself beginning to hyperventilate.

"Whoa, whoa, Pony, everybody's ok. Two-Bit's at his mom's, Dally and Johnny are in the hospital, Steve's at another greasers house fix in' his rusty old car." Sodapop said. Concern was leaking into his tone even more heavily now. "Why? What's wrong?"

These claims made Ponyboy uncomfortable. They weren't near enough for him to check on them. He debating whether or not to beg Soda to drive him to the hospital or call Two-Bit, when he realized that one other name hadn't been mentioned.

"What about Darry?" Ponyboy panicked. Now, _there_ was somebody he could check on. Pony knew that if he didn't, his paranoia would keep him up the rest of the night or morning or whatever time it was. "I gotta go-" Pony couldn't finish his sentence, he wanted out of that room so bad. Shaking his head rapidly, he threw back the covers (which were coated in sweat and the wetness that flowed out of his eyes as he sobbed) and jumped out of bed.

"Ponyboy, where are you-"

But Ponyboy didn't listen. He yanked open his bedroom door, fumbled in the darkness of the hallway for a moment, before asking himself sarcastically inside his head despite everything if he was an idiot and he paused in his flailing to search for a light. After a few seconds, Pony's patience ran out and he walked down the short hall as fast as he could, to the farthest door at the end of it.

The young greaser hadn't gone in his oldest brother's room for quite a while; he could only recall that the walls were a mixture of grey and blue, there was a desk in the corner, and the general layout was simple and neat. Darry wasn't one to hoard or overpile things, he preferred to be a minimalist.

Ponyboy mentally shooed his dawdling thoughts, grasped the doorknob, and pushed it open.

He didn't exactly know what he was going to see or what he was preparing himself for, though somewhere in the back of his mind he expected the room to be on fire or something equally drastic. But he uncovered no such thing; the room was fine, without flames creeping up the walls. In the middle of the room was a bed, it's occupant currently sleeping. To Ponyboy, however, the person looked to be dead, as it did not move and you could not easily see it breathing.

Naturally, Ponyboy did the first thing that popped into his head, which was hurry over to the bed and start jostling the figure without abandon, all the while half-yelling, "Darry! Darry, please get up!"

The oldest Curtis was abruptly pulled out of his dreamless sleep to the sound of his brother's scared voice. His eyes opened, and he turned over.

"Ponyboy?" Darry called sleepily, his icey orbs trying to laze closed. He resisted. The look on Pony's face was one of urgency, and it was really only that specific look on that specific person (or maybe it was because Darry wanted to make himself look a little bit better in his brother's eyes) that forced Darrel to sit up and ask, "What's wrong, honey?"

Ponyboy was so rediculously relieved that he almost fainted. But that would have been very un-tough. "Are you alright, Darry?" Pony had half of a mind to force his brother out of the bed so that he could examine him and make sure there were no burns on his hips or legs.

Darry gave a rightly puzzled facial expression. "I'm fine. Now that you woke me up I'm a little worried, though." Actually, he was a lot more than a little worried, but Darrel never let on how much he stressed over his brothers, his youngest especially. Ponyboy had never woken Darry up in the middle of the night before, usually Sodapop could console him just fine. But tonight, something was different. Something had changed.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Ponyboy gave an almost inaudible sniff, and shifted his weight from foot to foot as he prepared his answer. Suddenly he was feeling like this was the wrong call. You didn't just run to Darry like Pony had done, and said greaser felt close to crying, and you didn't do that in front of Darry either. But, Ponyboy inwardly protested his own logic, he had been panicking! All he wanted to do was to make sure that everybody was still alive...wow, but that sounded weird. Yet it was true.

"Yeah." Ponyboy whispered quietly, his tone almost lost in the dark. Darry squinted at him, and decided to try something.

"What was it about? Do you wanna talk about it?"

This took Ponyboy by surprise. Sodapop never asked Ponyboy to explain his fear or horror, he just comforted him until he could fall asleep, which was not a terrible method at all. Though Ponyboy couldn't remember most of his nightmares, the few truely horrendous ones, like tonight, seemed to be branded onto his brain. He couldn't forget them even if he wanted to, and boy did he want to.

Somebody grabbed his arm, and tugged him down onto the bed with a little more force than nessicary (that last part was expected). Soon, he was sitting next to his oldest brother, the only light filtering through the doorway. Which meant Ponyboy couldn't see Darry's face. Which meant that he couldn't attempt to read his emotions.

"Tell me, Pony." Darry took both of his brother's hands in his and rubbed circles on the back of them. Ponyboy felt his hands relaxing at the gesture, followed by his arms, followed by his chest, and the tendril of warmth curled around his heart. His shoulders fell, relieved of an invisible weight. The feeling brought back memories of when they were small; Darry and Ponyboy would snuggle together on the couch Saturday mornings, eating their cereal and watching cartoons. Then at night, Darry would hold Pony's hand and would read him and Soda a bedtime story. Darry told the best stories. Now, however, it was Ponyboy's turn.

So Ponyboy explained to Darry exactly what happened, describing his dream as accurately as he could; all of the fire, the gang burning away one by one until Darry was the only person left before even he became dust, the cloaked evil, the laughing and the whispers, the chains, the bubble, everything. It was almost as horrible relaying it as it was experiencing it, but then, Darry was next to him, and wouldn't let anything like that happen. Right?

When Pony was finished (leaving out the main part of Darry being the one protecting him from the evil and excluding the words his brother spoke before he burned), he was sniffling and tears were coming to his eyes. He fought them, seeing this as the worst time to cry. Telling somebody else about it did make him feel better, though. A lot better.

Darry was silent for a minute, his descriptive mind copying his brother's words and then drawing a colorful sketch in his head. Even to one of the toughest, coldest greasers around, the nightmare was very disturbing.

"...and everyone else was out of the house, and I saw S-Soda was ok, so then I came in here to make sure that y-you were too." Ponyboy ended. Darry was secretly touched that his brother cared enough to check on him, yet slightly concerned that he had been so paranoid that he had felt the need to in the first place.

Smiling softly, Darry took Ponyboy's hand and held it to his own cheek so that he could feel it instead of see it, since it was so dark. "I'm ok, baby. You don't need to worry about me, or any of the rest of the gang. If you want, we can ring up the hospital so you can talk to Johnny, but he might do more listenin' than talking."

Ponyboy seriously considered his brother's offer, but talking about it had honestly calmed him down a lot. He shook his head. "That's ok, Dar. I think I'm better now."

(Pony really liked this softer version of his oldest brother. It was a right shame, though; in the morning, Darry would return to his usual cold demeanor. Pony wished that he would stay the way he was right now the rest of his life, but he knew Darry wouldn't. Unemotional was Darry's middle name; Ponyboy wondered suddenly if he should start faking nightmares to spend more time with Darry the way he was now, comforting and full of quiet yet vibrant life.)

"Ok. Why don't you go back to sleep, then, so you'll be ready for the morning."

"What's goin' on in the morning?"

"We're actually going to go to the hospital to visit Johnny and Dally. And show you around to Two-Bit and Steve. They both missed you." Darry said. Ponyboy was a surprised that Steve had even noticed that he was gone, but he nodded and made his way off of the middle of the bed, where Darry had pulled him to talk. Said older brother Darry let out a yawn, and picked up his blanket, ready to burrow into it's warmth.

"Darry?"

"Yeah, Ponyboy?"

"I forgive you, you know. For what happened." Ponyboy said, his lean frame illiumiated by the hallway light. Darry watched him with wid eyes a moment later. "And thanks for the talk."

He left, his footsteps almost silent as they walked back to his bedroom.

Darry's eyes ran with tears, and he held the blanket to his face as he cried. Ponyboy didn't know it, but he had just relieved his brother of a giant burden that had rested on his shoulders. That was why he had been so worried when Pony was gone, why he was shy to reunite with him, why he wanted to make up for everything. He hadn't known if he was forgiven. But now he knew.

It felt amazing, almost like the oldest Curtis was free again. Free. Such a sweet, wild word. Darry laughed quietly. It was the happiest he had been in far too long of a time.

* * *

Ponyboy hadn't realized it, but he had seriously missed pancakes. The moment that Sodapop set them in front of him with his usual happy grin (Ponyboy explained what had gone on the previous night; thankfully and as always, Soda understood), his mouth began to water. The basis of what he had eaten in the past week consisted of bologna, bread, bologna, bolonga, and more bologna, and he was eager to eat anything else besides those two things. Hell, he'd even eat mushrooms, and he despised the slippery veggie. In his defense, though, they were so gross and slimey and just plain ew. Like really. Ew.

Enthusiastically, Pony grabbed for the syrup container and poured it over the generous stack of pancakes in front of him (Sodapop made sure to give his brother a little more than usual, because of all the weight he had lost). Ponyboy proceeded to grab the nearest fork and dig right in.

"Mornin' Sodapop. Ponyboy." Darry entered from the hall, already dressed to go to work. He gave his brother a stern look. Reluctantly, Pony slowed down. "You're gonna choke, you eat that fast." He turned to Soda. "Since the boss gave me a promotion, I've got to stay a little later at work these days. So I'll be home around five thirty, and then we can go to the hospital."

"You got a promotion?" Was what Ponyboy meant to ask. What really came out was: "Ooo hot ah her-ho-sion?"

Again, Darry shot Pony a look, and the young greaser swallowed before repeating his question.

Sodapop nodded with a grin. "Yup. Said Darry was his best worker. So now Superman doesn't have to work at that other hellhole."

Darry rolled his eyes, but grinned a slight bit. Passing by Soda, he ruffled his hair fondly and called as he opened the door, "Don't burn the house to the ground!" There was a few seconds of the pan sizzling with uncooked batter, the scrape of untensils against the plate, before Darry suddenly rushed back in. "And Ponyboy, you stay in and rest today until I get back. If you smoke more than four cigarette's, I'll skin you."

"And if you lift more than two bundles of roofing, _I'll_ skin _you._ " Ponyboy returned smoothly with a raised eyebrow. Sodapop burst into laughter at the fact that Darry had just been one-uped. On the other hand, Darry was staring at Ponyboy like he hadn't seen him for years. He smiled, and closed the door behind him.

Sodapop grinned his crazy grin at the banter and began a lengthy but cheery chat of his own with Ponyboy. They talked for a short while, when the door flew open once more with it's predictable slam. The two brothers gave a confused look; they had just heard Darry's truck pull out of the drive, and Darry seemed to always remember not to slam the door.

Nobody other than Two-Bit Matthews, whom Pony had not seen for a week, ran in the door. He had a strangely urgent spark in his grey gaze, and his hair was sweaty and sticking to the back of his neck. He was breathing hard, as if he had jogged all the way there.

"Sodapop! You gotta come quick!" Two-Bit sputtered out as quickly as he could. A second later, he noticed Ponyboy. For the first time ever, the wisecracker actually had to force his smile. "Hey, Pone. Good to see ya. Lost a lot a weight, eh? You'll be eating a lot of chocolate cake soon enough. Anyways, that's not the point." None of what Two-Bit said was making any picture of sense to the youngest greaser. Pony hadn't even said a simple 'Hi' yet.

It wasn't making any sense to Sodapop either. "What's goin' on, Two-Bit?" He really hoped he wasn't in for another fight with the Socs. Sure, he liked to knock the shit out of them for fun, but honestly, on the first morning his brother was back? Ponyboy didn't need that.

Two-Bit's tone was as serious as a heart attack. "They got Steve, Soda. They got him like they got Johnny."


	8. Dare You Provoke Sodapop Curtis

**Oh, jeez. I'm sorry, you guys! This update is super late and it's my fault. I hate when authors leave cliffhangers and then never update again and that's pretty much exactly what I did. Life got in the way for a little while. But I promise that I'll try to never let that repeat itself. For here we are at chapter eight! This chapter is a mix-mosh of points of view, and it's slightly shorter than usual, but chapter nine will be at least 4,000 words and IT WILL BE GOOD. I SWEAR. I'll be posting it sometime later this week.**

 **Happy reading! Thank you for your favorites and follows!**

* * *

All Steve Randle had been doing was walking down the usual alley to the Curtis house after getting off of work at the DX. Nothing greatly impressive ever happened on his stroll; the only mildly exciting thing that occured was said greaser letting out a particularly loud sneeze, or perhaps the few times he came across a broken pop bottle or two along the coarse gravel to kick around. So it was perfectly normal of him not to suspect anything major, though every now and then he would be quiet to make sure he wasn't being stalked, or he would carry along a blade. Not that he liked to use it: he preferred to fight with his fists.

He hadn't exactly been having the best of days: he'd gotten into a verbal fight with another greaser, who was apperently dating the broad he had been flirting with moments before. It was a shame, too, she was real good-looking; light brown eyes, shiny, thick black hair, and a nice pair of jugs. Anyway, he had left in lower spirits than usual, replaying his bad day in his mind and still trying to see what he had done wrong. Steve was thinking about a better comeback than the one he had given, when he heard the previously noiseless (which meant nonexsistant in his book) footsteps speed up abruptly.

Steve whirled around to see a man with brown hair and eyes of the same shade rushing at him. He carried a long piece of wood that had a nail stuck in the end of it. And his eyes weren't just brown; they flicked with random bursts of rage and anger. Steve had the feeling he knew this man from somewhere, for his features looked quite firmiliar.

The greaser could barely throw his arms up in defense and yell out a "What the fu-" before the angry-looking man swung the piece of wood straight into Steve's gut.

The teen's lungs burned with a pain like he had never experienced, and the second it started he wished that it would end. But the man seemed to not want to waste time, and swiftly kicked Steve's knee so hard that he collapsed, still clutching at his chest and attempting deep breaths. The man pulled his leg back again and this time aimed for his head. Steve felt a blinding pain, and in the next instant really _was_ blinded, because his own blood was dripping in his eyes.

All Steve saw was red after that, and his jaw was punched so strongly that he refused to scream for fear that he would damage it further.

What he did know was that the assault was relentless, and it hurt a whole mother fucking lot. It seemed like days (though it was only a few precious minutes) before the man stopped his cruel beating and looked down at his victim. Steve could have been hit by a truck, he was that awful. The man smirked, and let out a laugh.

"That's what you get, boy." Steve heard him say, before the man left.

Somewhere in the murky depths of his mind, Steve registered the voice, and the laugh especially. He knew why his attacker looked so firmiliar. It was too bad that he passed out before he could curse his father to the darkest pit of hell where he belonged.

* * *

Darry had the odd feeling that he was always the one to experience or find out about something _after_ the initial action had happened.

For instance, _Sodapop_ was the person who realized Ponyboy had run away and why before Darry could even come home from work the next day. Ponyboy had his nightmare yesterday night, but _Soda_ was the one he got comforted by first. Two-Bit had gotten hassled by Socs, while Darry hadn't been there to help, and brought the aftermath of the action to his front yard. Granted, Darry also was in the front line for a few things; he had saved Saren and Levi from a speeding train, and he _was_ there for the aftermath of the Soc-attack, but still. He felt demoted to the sidelines, only able to jump in when things got really bad.

Another example was right now. Propped up against the wall, bloodied and beaten, was Steven Randle. Blood was still leaking out of a cut on his head, and there were marks like slashes running down his arms. The rest of him looked half-mutilated, a bundle of purple, black, and blue.

The disgusting smell of vomit reeked in the air and hung there: Ponyboy had arrived at the scene along with Sodapop and Two-Bit a few hours beforehand, and the young greaser could not stomach it. He had explained that these days blood and guts and wounds make him feel ill. Darry didn't press about it. The odor of another person's throw up mingled with it's partner, as once Steve had woken up he had choked for a minute and then let it out. Said his stomach was killing him from all of the kicking.

Sodapop was currently sitting next to his best friend, every now and then asking a simple question or two to make sure Steve didn't lose consiousness again. His face was tear-streaked, but for the first time they weren't just tears of sorrow, they were tears of righteous anger and the drving will for justice. In-between inquires, he would re-adjust the several jackets donning his buddy that protected him from the steady breeze that was quickly growing colder.

Two-Bit was merely standing in the middle of the alley taking a smoke. He hated the fact that he always seemed to stumble upon these things, like bad stuff happened wherever he went. No, he didn't hate it, Two-Bit took that back: he _despised_ it.

Darry was sitting and leaning against the wall as well, Ponyboy encircled in his arms for warmth. The young greaser soon began shivering after he had given up his jacket, but refused to take it back when he was offered several times. Pony didn't dare bother Sodapop, not knowing whether or not his presence was wanted at that moment. He instead decided to join his brother on the dirt and curl up into him, losing himself to his thoughts and wonders.

(It was blatantly obvious that Darry was more protective of Ponyboy than ever, and it was also quite obvious he took a certain satisfaction in being chosen over Sodapop. At the current moment, he was also trying to get back in Ponyboy's good graces, and he was winning a few points. Darry allowed himself to revel in the slight glory for a second, before yanking his inflating ego back down to where it belonged and giving it a good smack upside its head. He scolded himself for getting prideful; that wasn't what was needed right now. And gloating was wrong.)

The eldest Curtis was handling the task of what to do now. Steve hadn't been able to tell them who had done this yet, so they couldn't ring up the fuzz because Darry and Two-Bit were easily bigger than the teen and had the force and power to do such a thing themselves, even though the truely never would. They couldn't bring Steve back to the house, as he seemed so fragile that they were scared to move him. And they would have to explain to anybody they encountered on the street why they were carrying a bloodied person to this rough-looking house. The gang wanted to bring supplies to help him, but Ponyboy had pointed out that besides how bad Steve looked they really didn't know what was wrong with him or what he needed, though it looked like he needed a lot more than gauze and hydrogene peroxcide. And _then_ they would have to explain to anybody they encountered on the street why they were carrying enough medical supplies to bandage up the army. So they were reduced to laying around and trying to plan the next move.

Darry unconsiously tightened his arms around Ponyboy and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. The fourteen-almost-fifteen-year-old closed his eyes and leaned further into Darry's embrace; like Sodapop's famous massages put Darry to sleep, the heat of his older brother's body was heavily helping Pony drift off.

Biting his lip, Darry tried to concentrate. He now knew what they had to do; they had to do exactly what they were doing right now. Wait until Steve could tell them who kicked his ass, Two-Bit and Darry go find the person/people who kicked his ass, kick _their_ asses, and leave Sodapop and Ponyboy to work things out with the fuzz. Pony would run to the store a few blocks away and phone them from there. It didn't matter if it was a hasty, semi-shitty plan, because right now it was all they had.

Ponyboy was half-asleep, now letting all of his weight (which was a lot less than it had been a week ago) rest against Darry's chest. He burrowed his face deeper into the warmth, and his hand fisted his brother's shirt. Darry smelled of wood and coffee and the cologne he wore. The mixture was nice.

Good gosh, but when Pony really thought about it, he was tired. He could knock out for a week. He really wanted to sleep for a week. He needed it.

(Darry, Sodapop, and Two-Bit felt the exact same way. The three had been through a rough week themselves, and Steve getting beaten wasn't exactly putting them at ease. These days, nothing could; the constant worry for their buddies in the hospital kept them anxious and weary, but Two-Bit and Soda knew that Darry had it the worst; underneath his icey, sharp orbs lay dark shadows that beat the two other Greasers bags by a long shot. And Darry had to work, push his body to meet physical challenges every day. Two-Bit and Soda did no such thing. Secretly, they were glad. And then deep down, they felt very guilty about feeling glad.)

"Soda." Steve whispered. Sodapop was immidiently there.

"Hi, Stevie. Listen to me for a second, ok?" Steve nodded a little, feeling ready to talk if they need presented itself. "Can you tell us who did this?"

Steve fell silent, like he had since Soda had begun asking that question. Sodapop expected no answer (Steve hadn't answered the first four times, and he didn't expect this time to be any different) but was shocked when Steve muttered out the two words he could manage.

"My dad."

Darry jolted upwards without thinking, and effectively made Ponyboy (who was practically laying on him) lurch off of his chest with surprising speed. Pony wasn't ready for it, as he had been dozing, and let out a yelp. Darry's hand shot out and grabbed him before his face could smash into the pavement. Once Ponyboy was sitting straight, he didn't know whether to be mad because Darry had woken him or relieved because his nose was still intact.

Sodapop jumped the same way Darry did, as if somebody had hit him with an electric shock. He sucked in a breath, held it, and then let it out.

Two-But, whom hadn't heard the revelation, jogged over towards the now-animated group and questioned, "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I'm going after him." Sodapop claimed, heaving himself from the floor. Darry and Ponyboy's eyes widened. The older of the pair couldn't say that he was shocked, as that was what he suspected Sodapop would want to revoke as payment for the beating of a best friend. They scrambled out of their poisitions to stop him, but luckily Two-Bit got there first.

"Whoa!" Two-Bit became a solid wall as Soda tried to push past him. The burly greaser locked his arms around the teen when Soda started to wrestle him, and shook his head firmly. "Hold it, buddy. You ain't goin' all by yourself. You'd get beat up same as Steve." He said with a touch of rightfully placed worry.

"I don't care." Sodapop spat without thinking, his eyes now alight with rage. He really wanted to punch something, and he really wanted that thing to be Mr. Randle's face. His mind was whirring and locking and seething and howling and aching for any excuse to fight. In that short instance, the image of Steve Randle took the place of where Soda stood, looking as pissed as ever. The difference between the two was that one was smirking, while the other was not. The next moment that followed, Steve's persona faded out of the middle Curtis. If the Greaser himself had had the energy to see and process the sight, he would have whooped.

Ponyboy, on the other hand, had never seen his brother so angry. His brain scattered and came back together and morphed into puzzle pieces and then melted into stone. So what, Sodapop was mad? That didn't mean that Pony wasn't going to try and stop him. "Soda, wait, you can't go there all on your own! Two-Bit's right, you'll get hurt!"

Soda calmed slightly when he heard Pony's voice (they had that close of a relationship) and sent him a semi-calm glance, but nonetheless continued to fight Two-Bit's grip.

"Sodapop." Came the boom of Darry's voice. His rough echo demanded attention, and Ponyboy was amazed that Sodapop had the strength to resist. The angry Greaser slowed a little, yet did not fully stop his battle between him and Two-Bit.

Darry walked up to the two and grabbed Sodapo's chin, lifting it up to meet his own eyes.

" _Soda._ " Darry repeated forcefully. Sodapop now gave up battling Two-Bit's grasp and looked at his brother, unable to see that their shields were clashing and cracking, one brother's emotions trying to override the other. It turned out Darry was far stronger, which made Soda back down right away. The second their gazes met, Sodapop's eyes shone with more tears as shame washed through his being like poison in his veins. Darry's ice-cold orbs seemed to hold no sympathy, and that made Soda feel worse about his episode. Why was he fighting his friends?

Darry gave Two-Bit a nod. Sensing that Soda was done, Two-Bit released him and stepped back.

Ponyboy broke through the nonexsistant cage holding him back and rushed to his brother. Sodapop hugged Pony tightly, sniffling into his shoulder and letting out a few quiet sobs. His younger brother shushed him and whispered words of comfort. This greatly helped the Curtis gather up all of the mess that was his sad, sad thoughts and put them in a order that at least sort-of made sense.

"Thanks, Pony." Soda said as he pulled away. He looked at Darry, who had his arms folded and a neutral expression on his face. "Thanks, Darry."

Darry smiled a small smile in acknowledgement, while Ponyboy grinned widely. They were too different not to react as such. Ok. So now everything with Soda was in order. Now what-

"Now what do we do?" Sodapop voiced what Ponyboy had been thinking. The eldest of teh gang now transformed his smile into a full-blown grin.

Two-Bit saw it and laughed, good and long. It felt nice.

"Ol' Darry's smilin' up a storm, folks!" He nearly yelled, acting as a circus announcer and gesturing a grand flourish. "That must mean we're whippin' out something so bad not even the drunks would agree to do it with us!" Two-Bit twirled, and Ponyboy let out a tiny giggle. He had missed Two-Bit's sillyness.

"So Darry." The three Greasers that were uninjured said in unison. "What's your Grand Plan?"

* * *

Darry didn't feel bad about punching people that deserved it.

He admitted, there was the occational accident: maybe during a squabble in the living room he would smack Steve's head a little too hard, or flicked Dally's jaw with too much force. His excuse was that he didn't know his own strength. This was half true. The other half of Darry knew how physically strong he was and feared having to demonstrate.

This time, this one, single time, he was more than happy to show what he could do to the human jaw. Or the rest of the body.

Sodapop was walking next to him, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his head hanging slightly Darry could feel the distress that still rolled off of him traveling in waves, and had the notion that he could do nothing to ease his pain except to offer an outlet. Maybe once in a while an escape.

 _Wait._ Darry mentally corrected himself. He could do a few other things. His mind flashed back to last night and Ponyboy coming to him about his nightmare. Would Sodapop be alright with being consoled by the brother he thought felt nothing?

"There's the house." Sodapop said to the empty air after a few more minutes of walking. Darry resurfaced from his thoughts, and glanced ahead; yup. Sitting on the edge of the street lay the Randle household. If the brothers could gamble for a bit of luck, Steve's dad would be sitting in his armchair in front of the shitty TV that resided in the living room that only ever seemed to broadcast equally shitty gaming shows. Darry surpressed the urge to roll his eyes at the image his head produced from memory He wished he wouldn't remember. There were some places his mind didn't need to waste time being.

"Don't do anything crazy." Darry said automatcially. Sodapop raised a challenging eyebrow, almost in disbelief. Darry was choosing _now_ to act as the parent?

"You mean like kick his motherfucking ass all the way to-" Soda's tone withered when Darry sent a cold stare of his own. Somehow his older brother always won at these glaring things. "Sorry. Yeah, I know, Dar."

Darry sighed as they approached the porch. "Don't kill him. Only fists unless he turns on you with a weapon of his own. Don't brutally beat him. And most importantly-"

"Leave the face to you." Sodapop grinned a little, cracked his knuckles, and pounded on the front door.

When Mr. Randle came to answer it, Darry felt sorry for him. It was rare a person was the reason for Sodapop Curtis's wrath and was present to face it. Honestly, you were quite unlucky if you were there at the moment; Mr. Randle soon found this out when Soda sent a fist flying in his direction.


	9. Fight the Aftermath

**Hiya! Chapter 9 is here. There isn't much for me to update you guys on, except for the fact that things are starting to heat up! The other thing is that this chapter is mainly in Ponyboy's POV, but I promise, Darry still won't go away no matter how this story turns out (add the fact that I really like describing what might go on in his head and I just can't abandon the guy).**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

Ponyboy had never really held anything against hospitals, even though his Greaser status made the staff wary; they were there to help people, they rarely turned anybody away, and you could get into any kind of accident you could possibly get into and the treatment could be found here. And while you were stuck in this place trying to get better, people cared for you, waited on you, brought you certain things that you wanted. Pony thought to the times when he was just sick enough to stay home, yet not ill enough to be checked into the stark-white building; Darry or Soda would take the day off of work (most of the time it was Sodapop, but if Ponyboy was feeling worse than usual, Darry would take Soda's place) and the only thing that they would feed him was chicken broth. And cold medicine. Not the best combination when your stomach was already queasy.

After a few more minutes of absent pondering, Ponyboy's knee began to bounce. He couldn't resist the urge to do so: yes, he was tired as fuck, and yes, he wasn't in the best shape himself and he should be resting, but come on. When your brother's best friend gets beaten up, you gotta suck it in and live with it.

That mantra didn't stop him from asking the nurse if he could have a few Asprins, though. His head was hurting.

"You that excited to be in the hospital again, kid?" Two-Bit asked half-jokingly, nodding his head towards Ponyboy's restless movements. The Mickey Mouse-loving redhead didn't know it, but he was a great comfort to Pony, not having anybody else to talk to except for Johnny. Ponyboy loved his best friend dearly, but it was nice to tease and talk to somebody else for a change. The two Greasers had been bantering for the majority of the time they had been sitting down.

Pony rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Two-Bit. I ain't excited. I just wanna know how Steve is and-"

"Don't tell him that, or else he might think you actually care about him." Two-Bit neatly dodged Ponyboy's attempted right hook. The other Greaser's face was flushed.

"I don't! I just wanna know so I can tell Soda." Ponyboy said truthfully. He glanced down the hall they were currently sitting on chairs in. "And you didn't let me finish. When are they gonna let us see Dally and Johnny?"

Two-Bit stopped his gawking at a pretty blonde nurse that had just walked by. His grey eyes danced for a second, and then the sparks dulled a notch. "I dunno, kid. The doc said we could see Dal sooner than we could see Johnny. Dally's doin' better than Johnnycakes."

Pony bit his lip (a habit that he shared with Darry) and his eyes trailed off. He was worried, to say the least. And his dream about his best friend dying in fire didn't exactly make the picture any prettier.

A sharp slice of the same wild panic he had felt last night cut through the youngest Curtis when he glanced up to see an old, grey doctor walking towards him, looking as serious as death itself. Ponyboy rubbed his hands on his knees. His heart raced and his mind boggled and blanked and ohnoohnoohgollygeeandgoshbedarnednononononono-

"Mr. Ponyboy Curtis? Mr. Keith Matthews?" The doctor had finally reached them, and peered downwards at the pair of Greaser's through thick brown glasses. The only hair left on his balding skull were a few straggled white threads that were as thin as paper. He seemed impatient and tired.

The two nodded, Ponyboy in nervousness, Two-Bit in confirmation.

"You friend Mr. Steven Randle is quite worse for wear." The doctor began solemnly. Pony immidiently deflated. Soda wasn't going to be happy when he heard that. "He's cut up badly on his arms, and they have a great chance of turning into scars if when he goes home he doesn't take care of them properly. Four broken ribs, a dislocated jaw, a gash on his head that will require stitches, and a toll of damage to his left lung, right around his heart."

There was quiet for a moment as this processed.

"But will he make it through?" Two-Bit pressed, leaning towards the aging man. "And how are Johnny and Dally?"

"Dallas Winston and Johnny Cade?" The doctor questioned. He examined the chart that he was holding in his boney fingers. "Mr. Winston is in perfect condition with the exception of his left arm; there's going to be some light scarring no matter how well he tends to it at home. Although he has some anger issues-" Ponyboy and Two-Bit exchanged knowing glances. Most likely the hood had yelled at the nurses and demanded to see Johnny. "He is otherwise fine. Mr. Cade, however, has a large range of third-degree burns on his lower back, chest, and legs. His back, lucky for you two, is not broken, and his spine is only slightly fractured. Due to this, he may lose the feeling in his hands every now and then, but don't worry, his body will adjust and heal. You may see them both." The doctor paused in his long diagnosis. "And your friend Mr. Randle is not in the best shape, but he will survive. I'll need to see the guardian of you two before you can visit him."

Ponyboy inwardly sighed and stole a second to look at the clock. He didn't know how long Darry and Sodapop were going to take, but it had been an hour and a half already. He was a little concerned that they might be held hostage; Pony shook it off, thinking of Darry's great strength and Soda's great anger. They'd come back alright. _When_ was the question.

"Mr. Curtis."

Pony drew himself from his thoughts to realize the doctor was staring at him intently. _Shit._ He really needed to stop spacing out so much.

"Yes?" He took the polite way out. Being nice never hurt anybody.

Well, maybe it hurt Dally, but that was different.

"You were discharged from this hospital only yesterday night. I have not heard from your gaurdian since." The doctor said, lifting his grey eyebrows. "How is your own health?"

Ponyboy's head ached, his ribs burned, and his back hurt like a mother of fuck. He still carried a nice, big purple-and-blue bruise on it from where Dally had knocked him unconsious.

"I'm fine, doc." He answered right away, not wanting Darry to get in any trouble and wishing Two-Bit would tell the others so that they would stop worrying about him and focus on worrying about people who actually needed to be worried after. Like Steve and Johnny. Besides, the Asprins were helping a little. And all he had to do to make his head feel better was take a few more and then sleep. Pony'd be fine, like he said.

The doctor glared for a moment more, like he could see through the Greaser's words. Ponyboy shifted in discomfort.

"Well, then. If you believe yourself to be alright." The doctor relented slowly. "You feel sick or your head hurts or anything, you come right back though these doors, Mr. Curtis."

Ponyboy's mind gave a pained throb. "Yes, sir."

"And tell the Miss Truedeth when your gaurdian enters...I believe that is your older brother, Mr. Darrel Shaynne Curtis?" Two-Bit let out an invisible chuckle at the mention of Darry's full name. Ponyboy ignored him pointedly and nodded. "Right, then, let Miss Truedeth know when he arrives so you can see your other accomplice." The doctor smiled slightly at Pony's confused look. "That is the receptionist. Good day, boys." The old medical man walked off, probably to inspect his next patient.

Two-Bit now laughed loudly. "That was interesting."

Ponyboy grinned a little, and his green eyes flashed to check the clock again. Fifteen minutes had passed. Where were his brothers? They needed Darry here in order to see Steve.

Two-Bit grabbed Ponyboy's arm. "C'mon, let's go look into random people's rooms! Maybe we'll stumble upon a hood!"

* * *

"You broke the rule."

"Aw, c'mon, Dar! He was askin' for it!"

"Sodapop, he was asking for us to beat him up. Not for you to a), break my rule, and b), practically shatter his nose while breaking my rule."

"I hope his face is ruined."

"It damn well better be! You better have hit him harder than I would have or else you're washing the dishes for the next week without Ponyboy or me helping!"

"What! That's not fair! You saw him stumble and grab his face!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Still broke the rule."

"Fine. The next time we go father-hunting, I'll make sure that you get the first punch to the face, Dar."

"Thanks, Soda. It's what I always wanted."

"I'm sure it was."

A pause while the two brothers walked down the street. The hospital was slowly coming into view.

"Now that I'm thinking about it, I regret letting you pull me off of him."

"You were going to maim him with his own _lamp_ if I didn't. It was the right call. We don't want more blood on our hands than there needs to be."

"And how much blood is on our hands exactly?"

"A shitload more than I'd like."

"You just added to the total by letting us fight that pisshead."

"He deserved it."

"So you agree with me?"

"I never disagreed."

The hospital was near now.

"Wait, Dar, do you have actual blood on your hands right now?"

"What?"

"Your knuckles are bleeding."

"Oh. Your eye is purple."

"You've got a cut on your jaw."

"Crap, you're right, I didn't notice."

"How'd you not notice? It's huge!"

"It's not huge, Soda, it's just a small cut. Now that you mentioned it, it's starting to burn. Thanks."

"My pleasure."

Sodapop roughly pushed open the doors to the large, tall red-and-white building. Darry was lifting a hand to his face, feeling for the slight gash. Soda almost rolled his eyes, but judging on how much he had already done so in their conversation, he decided against it. They made their way to the front desk, and met the exact same receptionist they had seen from the previous day. The brunette looked up at them and raised her eyebrows.

"Can I help you, Mr. Curtis and Mr. Curtis?" She asked teasingly, but with a hint of worry. The two brothers seemed like they had come from a fight; they were each covered in a random array of bruises, red splotches of blood, and cuts. "Perhaps I should check you into the emergency room?"

Darry picked up on the intended sarcasem and smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks. We're good. We'd actually like to know if Steve Randle is here yet. He was brought in by-"

"-Keith Matthews and-" Soda made to cut in, and was almost done, but the receptionist surprised him.

"Ponyboy Curtis." She finished, and glanced up at the startled teen through her eyelashes. "Yup. They came in through here about an hour and fifty minutes ago. Same floor as last time if you want to see him and his friends." The young woman smiled once more, before returning to her papers. She knew she didn't need to look up; the brothers had already raced off.

"Why is it that we always have the elevator to ourselves?" Darry wondered out loud as Sodapop poked at the buttons.

Soda shrugged and continued his sport idily. "I dunno. Guess they knew we'd need it?"

Darry watched his brother play with the elevator, and bit his lip. Unsure how to start what he wanted to say (and again, because he was always rough without menaing to be), he blurted, "Steve's gonna be ok, Soda. And even if he isn't, we did him justice."

The middle Curtis's eyes shifted, blinking away traitor tears. He felt like laughing: when Soda saw his best friend, he was going to wrestle him for putting Soda through so much worry. Damn that boy. "Yeah, Darry, I know. Thanks for helpin'."

"It wouldn't be right to let you have all of the fun."

Sodapop smiled, but the sparkle in his eyes grew from sadness to curiousity. "How're you doin' with Pony? He said he had a real bad nightmare last night. Also said he had to make sure everybody was alright. What'd you do that calmed him down?"

Darry stared at the blonde for a minute, before simply lifting his shoulders. "He barged into the room and shook me awake, so I asked him if he wanted to talk about it...so we did. And he said he felt better after he was done telling me about it. I guess he needed to tell somebody about it. And I guess that person was me."

Soda was happy that his brothers were drawing closer, and he let that fact be known as he voiced it out loud. Darry just nodded. He himself wasn't so sure; even though Ponyboy had forgiven him and that made him feel very relieved, Darry had never actually apoligized. He would have to fix that soon.

The elevator doors dinged open. Darry led the way out, and Sodapop followed. That always seemed to be the order in the gang: Dally was high up there, and then Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit were a little behind him. Then Johnny and Ponyboy were after them. Sometimes the poisitions were mixed, depending on the circumstances, but somehow everybody always shoved Darry to the front. He was the one who delt with all of the hard problems and created solutions to solve them. It had to be Darry.

There was a doctor that they passed as the brothers made their way down the long hall, with almost no hair and bland grey eyes. Two-Bit's laughing orbs put this man's to shame. He explained to them where Ponyboy and Two-Bit had gone, and informed Darry that everyone could visit Steve now. Sodapop's brow furrowed. He had assumed that Pony and Two-Bit had already seen their recently-beaten friend. Guess not.

After giving them Dally and Johnny and Steve's room numbers, the dark-haired eldest and the honey-blonde middle Curtis paused and conducted a quick agreement: Darry would stay with Ponyboy and Two-Bit, and Soda would go see Steve alone for now. They briefly hugged, and went about their ways.

Darry found the door to Dallas's room swiftly. His hand touched the cold doorknob, and he pushed the rectangular block of wood out of his path as he stepped in.

"-know that you care about me so deeply, Two-Shit." Dally was saying with an arched eyebrow. His left arm was bandaged tightly, and with the exception of a small cut on his elfishly pointed ear, he seemed fine. Ponyboy was standing in the corner facing the bed, smiling at the hood in earnest. Two-Bit, smirking and about to return with a playful jab of his own, stopped when three pairs of eyes were drawn to the new presence entering the room.

"Dar-" Ponyboy started as his smile grew wider, but then his words never finished exiting his mouth. He was staring at Darry like he was an alien from space. Two-Bit looked the same as Ponyboy, wearing an expression of pure shock, before letting a low whistle. Even Dally's eyes widened considerably. The light scary sky and the youthful emerald and the silly storm gaped.

"Fuck, Superman, did you get in a fight with a lion or something?" Dally asked, breaking the silence.

Darry didn't understand why everybody was looking at him like that. "No. With a drunken idiot maybe, but not a lion."

"Well, shit, Darry!" Two-Bit said incrediously, throwing up his arms. "Didn't you remember to cover you face?"

Darry gave a weird look, but nonetheless nodded.

"Did you just stand there and let him hit you or somethin'?" Dally questioned again. Ponyboy remained silent and staring.

Irritated, Darry folded his arms over his chest and straightened his back. The three Greasers swallowed. The eldest Curtis was damn frightening, especially when he looked like how he currently looked.

"What are y'all starin' at?" Darry shot the inquiry at the trio, his annoyance forcing his proper English out and giving way to his Southern accent. He hated when that happened, but sometimes he just couldn't help it.

Two-Bit and Dally most likely would have laughed until Darry hit them upside their heads, but Dallas shook his head almost seriously.

"You look like shit, Darry. Worse than me." He announced to the puzzled Greaser. Darry's eyebrows drew together, before single one raised. He didn't think his injuries were _that_ awful. Surely all he would need was to clean them and take a pain killer or two; the cut on his jaw was still burning a little.

"What happened to your arm?" Ponyboy asked, pointing. Darry cast his right arm a glance to find out a strangely shaped bruise that was a mix between yellow, green, blue, and purple splayed in a pattern across his skin. He blinked at it and tried to remember where he got it from.

"Got pushed into a table."

"And your face?"

"The bastard swung a broken beer bottle at me. Guess I didn't dodge it in time." Darry was still lost, even as he answered these questions. He didn't understand; the gang came home all the time with injuries worse than his. What was the big deal?

Ponyboy was looking at his battered brother and felt the almost overpowering urge to throw something, or punch someone. He inwardly shuddered with anger, picturing what Sodapop might look like. His brain didn't shove forth the best images, and in the next moment the teen was seething. He had half of a mind to march over to the damn house himself and get a few shots in.

Two-Bit cast Pony an uneasy glance, sensing what was going through his mind. He sent a warning look, and Ponyboy luckily saw it and held back having a freak out.

At that minute, Sodapop opened the door and stood in the doorway. Pony sucked in a sharp breath: Soda looked worse than he had in his head. There was a ring of purple underneath one eye, almost as dark as the shadows decorating both of Darry's. The blonde's lip was cut, and there was a bit of dried, crusty-looking blood on his temple. Two-Bit felt the urge to grasp at his own head; he had recoved from an injury much the same.

"Soda!" Ponyboy ran at his brother and hugged him like he had earlier that night. Sodapop smiled the best that he could, and squeezed him right back. "Why do you and Darry look so hurt?"

Soda shook his head at his clearly upset brother. "The fucker got a couple swings on me, Pony. I did the best I could, but even I can't do everything."

Ponyboy looked at his oldest brother, who was watching Dally with tired eyes. "Didn't Darry try to help you?" Pony whispered to Soda.

"Look at 'em, Pony. He looks way worse than me. He was protectin' me the best that he could while we were fightin' that guy." Sodapop said quietly, before turning to the room to address it as a whole. "Hey, Dally. Hiya, Two-Bit. We got 'em." He wagged his eyebrows in triumph.

Two-Bit grinned. "Alright! Did you get the face?"

To prove a point, Darry made a gesture at Soda and sent him a small smirk. The middle Curtis laughed, and nodded at Two-Bit.

"Yup. Knocked a real good one. Oh, and Darry," Darry stood at rapt attention. "Is it ok if I stay here with Steve for the night? He asked, and I want to real bad. And it's been real rough on everyone. I'll be safe here. Just for tonight?" Sodapop pleaded when he saw Darry's face transform from open to skeptic.

Darry sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He guessed that Soda deserved it, after the crazy week they had just gone through, and the insane day it had been today.

"Ok." He agreed after another moment of thought. Sodapop smiled even wider than he had been before, and did a little victory dance. Even Dallas chuckled at the sight.

"I'll be off, then. 'Night, y'all." He kissed Ponyboy on his forehead. "'Night Pony. You don't give Darry any trouble, hear? And thanks for today and helpin' me, Dar."

Ponyboy and Darry readily nodded, and with that Soda sped out the door and down the long hall to his best friend.

* * *

A Greaser in Tulsa didn't exactly have whole wads of time just laying around like old newspapers, plentiful but currently useless, yet ready to pick up at any time. No, things were never that way, not for Greasers. Time wasn't always available; the dangers of Socs, school, a rough home life, maybe a job, and with throwing it all together you saw that Greasers had absolutely zero time to waste. Even people like Darry didn't have time to waste, and Darry _created_ his time seemingly out of thin air. But eventually he ran out, and unshamefully admitted it. Greasers lost time like Socs lost pennies. Free time, to do whatever you wanted with- _that_ was a gift. A true, true gift.

Ponyboy had stumbled upon this fragment of free time that he hadn't known he had had. He was sitting next to Darry, silent as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot, when he realized. Now he had a few minutes all to himself, just to think.

One might suppose that since Ponyboy was the youngest, he had the most time. This was not true. He usually woke up mid-morning, after everyone had well started their day, and Darry just about to leave for work. He then had to go to school, come home, do his homework and chores, go places with the gang, fight in rumbles or tussle with a few Socs, and once in a while have to deal with circumstances such as the ones in current time. People may argue that Pony had all night to think, in the privacy of his bed, but this was also untrue; Ponyboy's bed was not private (he shared with Soda to keep the nightmares at bay), and he instead used that time he had to talk to his brother or sleep. So, Pony did not have time. Which was not unusual.

Ponyboy cast Darry a calculating glance. His oldest brother, if he had to be described in one word, looked tired. Tired as fuck. Heavy bags hung underneath his eyes from lack of sleep, and purple-black shadows accompanied them with scary vibrance. Darry's jaw had a thin, medium-sized cut running along it's right side, beginning a few inches below his earlobe and stopping a couple centimeters before it curved downwards towards his neck. His cowlick was sticking up a little higher than it regularly did, but despite everything Darry had managed to keep his hair in check. His dark eyebrows were relaxed at the moment, though one held small nick that was leaving a trickle of blood running across Darry's temple. Darry's shirt was loose, billowing somewhat whenever he shifted his semi-bruised arms to reveal the muscles hidden underneath. Back straight, yet his shoulders were hunched, eyes trying to close. That was what completed the piece, Pony recognised. Darry's icey-cold eyes, sharp and unforgiving, but they made him all the tuffer and more intimidating. Pony had the feeling that the shadows and the bruises were his fault.

"You ok, Pony? You're looking at me weird."

Ponyboy snapped himself away from his thoughts (which was a shame, really, because it felt like he had been yanked from a smooth river and thrown in an ice bath. It was as uncomfortable and startling as it sounded). He hadn't noticed that he had been staring for too long.

"Yeah." For some reason, Pony's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry, Darry. I'm fine."

Darry's orbs flicked from the road to his brother breifly. "You're sure?"

Ponyboy was not sure at all. He was worried about Johnny, whom they hadn't gotten to see due to his conditions: he was scared for Steve and hoped that Soda was alright with Two-Bit there looking after him: and to top off the giant tower of strange and bad feelings, a large guilt was starting to settle on his shoulders for what he had put Darry through. Sure, Pony had forgiven him for his rash actions, but he had never apoligized himself. Good lord, but Darry must have felt like shit.

In other words, Ponyboy was a mess of emotions and didn't have the tools to knock them back into place.

Not wanting to lie to Darry, Ponyboy remained silent.

"Ponyboy. Are you sure?" Darry repeated, his tone drawing a serious picture. Ponyboy regretted his previous decision to stay quiet. Now Darry wouldn't let it go.

Ponyboy sighed, and rubbed at his eyes. Tears were pricking the back of them like hot iron. This was one of the many things that set Darry and Sodapop apart in Pony's mind. Soda didn't press, and he comforted right away. Darry preferred to get all of the information first, and then talk through things to find a good solution. Soda had an intuition about what people wanted and when they wanted it; Darry had to pull all of his thoughts together and draw conclusions. Sodapop was wild and caring and funny, and Darry was uptight and righteous and cold and unfeeling.

(The main difference between the two brothers in Ponyboy's head, however, was a single fact: Pony knew for sure that Sodapop loved him. He didn't know about Darry. The only thing that Pony knew about Darry was that Soda was the only thing keeping him from throwing Pony in a boy's home. Pony ached to hate Darry for that, but since he could never know for sure, Pony was hooked around a chain of ever-forgiving love. Which meant that Pony could dislike his protective brother all he wanted, but he could never stop loving him.)

"Pony..." Darry's voice changed abruptly. "Please talk to me, honey." He sounded so strange when he pleaded.

Ponyboy was slightly dumbfounded that Darry wished to know so badly he resorted to beg. But when Pony thought about it, he wanted to. He wanted to trust Darry like he trusted Soda. He really, really did. So he tried something.

"Darry, do you love me?" Ponyboy sniffed, looking at his brother with big, bright emerald eyes.

Darry gave his full attention to Ponyboy (surprised that he had felt the need to ask the question), and, staring at him with icey blue-green orbs that didn't seem to rest, he answered without hesitation.

"Of course, Ponyboy. I love you."

Neither Darry nor Ponyboy knew it, but saying those things to each other signaled the start of something that they would both struggle to reach the end of.


	10. A Mixture of Relationships

**Hey everyone! I'm so sorry about this kinda-late update; I was super sick and then life decided to hit me with writer's block. That and I took a quick break from writing to read a whole bunch of books. And I've got a couple ideas buzzing around my head for more stories that I'm writing the rough drafts to. But now I'm back! The end of this chapter is a little messy, but it's only like that because the real plot is now coming into play!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It was an odd thought to have at the moment, but when Darry really looked at himself in the mirror, he came to the sudden realization that he should shave.

Running a hand along his jaw, Darry decided that it was only stubble, and it would take less than twenty minutes to shave it all off. Yes, it was getting kinda late (about six thirty at night; Darry needed to start dinner soon), but now that the eldest Curtis had it on his mind, he knew that he wouldn't be able to shake it off and he'd be battling the urge to shave all through supper. It would irk him.

He stole a minute to look in the mirror. Darry's eyes had shadows, his skin seemed slightly waxy, and his stubble was just prominent enough to make him look like a drunken man who hadn't left his house for days. He blinked at his reflection as two words popped into his head of their own accord: _chain smoker._

He reached for the shaving cream and applied it quickly, making sure not to get any near his cut. He was starving, and was certain his younger brother was also, seeing as he had vomited his breakfast and due to the incident occurring that day had skipped out on lunch.

"Darry, what's for dinner?" Ponyboy yelled from the living room. Darry paused in his actions for a moment to listen. No crackly sound of a television greeted him, and at that second he was glad. Pony was probably reading a book.

That was the nice thing about the youngest Curtis. He felt the need to wind down sometimes, just like Darry.

Darry's mind snapped to the present, and he pondered the question. "Pasta!" It was really the only quick meal he could think of making. Darry wanted sleep as soon as humanly possible.

"Too many carbs!"

Darry rolled his eyes. "That's what I'm cooking. If you want something else, you buy it or cook it yourself!"

Ponyboy was most likely debating whether or not it was worth it to put up a fight. He seemingly decided against it. "Never mind, pasta is good."

 _That's what I thought._ Darry mused, carefully taking out his razor and starting swift strokes that rid his jaw of the stubble. Laziness always won. Well, most of the time it won. Laziness had no such luck when it came to Darry.

A few minutes passed as Darry shaved, before he finished and rinsed everything off. Whenever he was newly shaved, he felt cleaner, for a reason he was not sure of. He dragged a hand across his mouth, and winced when he brushed his cut. Grabbing a small band aid from one of the bathroom drawers, he covered the middle of the slight wound, which was also the deepest part, and proceeded to exit the bathroom and make his way to the kitchen.

Darry took fifteen minutes to cook the noodles, and then called Ponyboy to dinner. The young teen eagerly leapt towards the table, but Darry almost threw himself in front of Pony to stop him.

"Whoa, there, Pony. Are you ok enough to eat?"

Ponyboy resisted the particularly strong urge to lift an eyebrow and cock his hip. Yes, of course he was sure, it was food! Food was good! And he had only thrown up this morning because of all of the blood and gory shit. He could handle pasta.

"Yeah, Dar, I can eat. I'm hungry!" Pony added that last part when Darry mimicked Ponyboy's thoughts and raised a single eyebrow. At this, Darry permitted him to lunge at the food and dig right in. Unlike his brother, Darry sat down almost regally with his back taut and his shoulders straight, quietly serving himself the bow tie noodles.

Every now and then, Ponyboy would glance up from his dinner and sneak peeks at Darry. He had realized that the oldest Curtis had shaved, but he didn't recognize how young it would make Darry look. Group that fact with the bandaged cut on his jaw and his purple-ringed eyes and he looked like he had been staying up all night studying for his high school finals. Pony wondered if all of the girls threw themselves at his handsome brother back in his actual high school days. Ponyboy felt like just sitting and staring. How was Darry so _young_?

Pony bit his lip and thought about that fact for a moment. It was true; Darry was only twenty (about five years older than Ponyboy himself; the youngest Greaser's birthday was in a week and a half), he just worked like someone twice his age and acted like someone thrice his age. His muscles stood to prove it, but he didn't look like one of those overly-bulky dudes who lifted weights every day. Yeah, the ladies must have liked his older, smarter brother. After all, he was-

"Ponyboy, were you lying to me? Because I'd like you to eat, but if you can't, then don't. I don't want you gettin' sick again." Darry's voice cut through Pony's thoughts, and the oldest Curtis gestured to his brothers plate, which had remained untouched for a full minute. Darry concluded that this was strange, seeing as Ponyboy had been attacking his food not sixty seconds ago.

 _Shit, Curtis! Stop staring so much and start doing!_ Ponyboy scolded himself inside his head as he drew his mind to focus.

"I'm fin-ood." Ponyboy's brain was still half-murky with ponderings of Darry's true youth, and his mind couldn't fathom what word he wanted to use. "I mean grea-some. I mean, I'm okay!" The Greaser hastily corrected himself.

Darry was a little unbelieving, and opened his mouth to protest. Ponyboy shot him a look that pleaded for him to let it go, and the eldest Curtis huffed a little, but busied his now-open mouth with the work of eating.

After a few more minutes, Darry announced, "Bed when you've finished eating, ok, Pony? I know it's only seven thirty, but you've had a..." Darry bit his lip, not sure how he wanted to form his words. "Rough day. So bed."

The inner child residing in Ponyboy's brain greatly protested this judgment, but the exhausted teen who was lounging next door firmly quieted the child and begged for Pony to snatch at the chance. Not like he really had a choice, but still. Ponyboy nodded at his older brother and ate more noodles.

What could a little rest hurt, anyway?

* * *

For the past week, Darry had not gotten one single full night of rest. Not two. Not three. Not one. Zero. He soon realized that he missed sleep very much, and after seeing that Ponyboy was laying in bed safe, he allowed himself to strip off his clothes, climb into bed, and forget about the rest of the world for the time being. Just one night of pure sleep to recharge his batteries, and then he'd be up and running, good as previously owned.

The oldest Curtis should have known that sleep doesn't come that easily. At least, not for him.

Darry had closed his eyes for what felt like two minutes, dreaming of Socs and rumbles and the color green, when somebody decided that it was about time to shake him awake. They started out slowly at first, before the motions of the hands on his side grew panicked, at the same time a whisper had risen into loud talking.

"Darry, are you up?"

The eldest Curtis sighed invisibly through his nose, dragged one slow hand across his face, and said sleepily into the darkness of his room, "Now I am. Is that you, Po-" Darry yawned a little. "-onyboy?"

There was a figure standing next to Darry, illuminated by only a sliver of light that filtered through a crack in the door. The outline of his younger brother nodded mutely, and Darry rubbed at his eyes and sat up exactly as he had the previous night. Casting Pony a weary glance, he sighed again (now audibly) and asked, "What's wrong?"

"I had a nightmare." Ponyboy whispered, drawing his hands away from Darry's side and holding them behind his back, twisting them for something to do.

 _Oh._ Darry thought. So Pony wanted to talk about it like yesterday?

"You wanna talk about it again?" Darry voiced his thoughts to Pony, but the young Greaser shook his head. Darry gave a confused look.

"I can't remember it like last night. That one was weird and scary because I could remember it, but now it's gone back to just making me feel real afraid." There was a pause as Pony drew in a shaky breath, but that didn't help the fact that his next words came out in one giant rush. "AndIwaswonderingifmaybeIcouldstaywithyoutonightbecauseSoda'snothereifthat'sokwithyou."

"What?"

Ponyboy cleared his throat nervously. Oh, what had he been thinking? He was disliking his own idea now that he was here saying it to his brother, but no way in fuck was Pony going back to his room in the dark all alone. Not after that scary-ass nightmare full of blood and purple and blue. Nu-uh.

"C-Could I sp-sp-end th-the night with y-y-you?" Ponyboy's awkward doubt showed through the stutter that became his voice whenever he was anxious; he hated that almost as much as Darry hated his own Southern accent.

Darry blinked at his brother, caught off-guard by the favor he asked. It wasn't that he wished to immiediently refuse the request, but the nature of it and who's mouth the words were escaping evaded all usual protocall.

(Ponyboy never, _never_ went to Darry for comfort. He always turned to Sodapop. Darry had been slightly hurt by this constant, unchanging loyalty and choice, yet couldn't help but wonder why Sodapop got more attention from their youngest brother. At the time, Darry had thought it was because Soda was closer to Pony's age, or that he was nicer, or because Sodapop simply had more time. Ponyboy would take to the grave the real reason; his older brother's constant coldness felt similar to rejection, and the youngest Curtis was scared to ask for fear of that same rejection. To this very day, the fear of that rejection hounded on Ponyboy like an illness he couldn't ever get well from.)

Only a few seconds passed, but they seemed like hours to Pony, who, watching his brother's shocked face, had the wild urge to start biting his nails. He should really break that habit soon. To Darry, they felt like years, time stretched out between the siblings, the farthest it had ever stretched before. The pair knew that this moment, this deciding moment, was huge, even though it meant different things to each person; if Darry said no, that screamed privacy and _I'm-not-ready_ and _I-need-to-be-alone-for-now_ and rejection and _nothing's changed._ Pony would feel even more unloved than he previously had. If Darry said yes, that meant that he was willing and sorry and ready to move forward from the past.

"Sure, Pony." Darry (slightly surprised at his own words) shifted over, more towards one end of the bed, and lifted the sheets as an invitation to join him.

Ponyboy was so relieved that he let out an invisible sigh as he let the tension melt from his taut shoulders. He didn't have to change into night clothes (he wore a loose dark green shirt and boxers), or brush his teeth, or anything, so he had no reason to stall getting into the bed, even though he felt as if he should. Mentally shaking himself off, Pony turned to shut the door behind him, effectively drenching the room in darkness he was ever-so firmiliar with, and climbed next to Darry as his older brother pulled up the covers.

The first thing that hit Ponyboy as he settled was _vanilla._ It smelled of vanilla under Darry's covers: not positively reeked like Sodapop's sea-scented shampoo, but it was like a blanket of it's own as the scent wrapped around Ponyboy. It was warm, too; not hot enough to become sweaty in, but just warm enough to be toasty.

Ponyboy cast a glance at Darry, and though he looked tired, Darry opened his arms to his brother, asking a silent question. His icey eyes were unusually hazy, a strange feat to behold in person as his gaze was normally sharp, calculating, and focused.

Pony already felt safe and content, but answered positively, wriggling over until he was in Darry's arms. The young Greaser couldn't help but take a silent sniff; yup. The vanilla smell was Darry, all right. It was also much, much warmer in Darry's arms, and Pony felt an unspoken circle of protection surround him. At the moment, he didn't mind.

He stole a second to examine his older brother's face, and again was surprised by Darry. Ponyboy hadn't noticed that Darry wore such a hard, set facial expression all the time, but now, up close, looking at his relaxed eyebrows and closed eyes, the reality of his brother's now-soft face screamed at him as to how he had never realized what Darry might really look like. Darry's guard went completely down when he slept.

After a few more seconds, Ponyboy felt Darry's arms tighten around him as the oldest Curtis blinked himself awake. Pony was puzzled as to why his brother hadn't fallen asleep yet, but in the next instance he found out.

"I never told you I was sorry." Darry whispered, glancing downwards to where Ponyboy had tucked his chin into the crook of Darry's neck. He had to say it and he didn't know why, yet he gave in and went and said it.

Part of Ponyboy was patronizingly groaning at the prospect of a long, unforgiving talk that would mean nothing in the morning, but it was quickly squashed when his other curious counterpart gave it a strong glare. "You don't have to, Darry, I forgive you."

"But I never told you I was sorry, Pony." Darry repeated. "I'm sorry that I hit you."

"I'm sorry that I ran away." The cold of the night, the wind, the blood came rushing back at him at the same time Ponyboy recalled purple shadows and dark bags and exhausted shoulders. "And I'm sorry that I made you worry so much."

"Worrying is what big brothers do, honey." Darry chuckled a little. "Worrying about _you_ specifically is what big brothers do."

"Hey!" Ponyboy said, poking Darry in his chest. His older brother reached down to swat his hand away, and laughed when Pony made a wounded face. "I'm almost fifteen, Dar. Soon you won't have to work so much, or worry so much, and I'll be able to get a job and help and stuff."

"No matter how old you get, Pony, I'll always look after you." Darry pressed his lips to Pony's forehead, secretly glad that Ponyboy cared enough about him to go get a job of his own. His younger brother unconsiously cuddled closer, reveling the rare attention.

Ponyboy smiled. "Thanks Darry." He meant it with everything in him.

"You're welcome, Pony." Darry flashed a quick smirk that Ponyboy almost missed, even though he was less than five inches away from Darry's face (golly, but did that sound wrong!). The oldest Curtis rested his head against the back of his pillow. "Go to bed now, you rascal. Try not to have any more nightmares, mmmkay?"

The youngest Curtis complied, lending himself over to sleep for the time being and enjoying the warmth gathering next to his heart.

* * *

Everybody in the world had a best friend. _Everybody._ It didn't matter if you were a Soc or a Greaser, rich or poor, high-class or low-class, smart or stupid, loud or quiet, girl or boy, because no matter what, out there somewhere you had a best friend; somebody who understood you and trusted you and loved you dearly. There were few people in the world whom had actually found their _real_ best friend, not just a person that they claimed to be so. But those who achieved such a goal were very lucky, a stark contrast to those who had not. The shameful part of it all was that these people got into fights with their true best friends, and left them on the street corner for good. Yet then, there were those friends who stuck with each other through everything life could possibly think to throw at them.

Ponyboy's best friend in the history of the universe was Johnny Cade.

And you could just tell by looking at them; the tight clutch of their arms around one another, the tears leaving tracks down their smiling faces, and the obvious view of the thread that symbolized their bond strengthening and glowing.

As Darry watched the two hug, the word _inseparable_ came to mind. He felt happy for them, but couldn't help the sinking feeling inside of his stomach as his eyes caught sight of Sodapop and Steve locked in much the same embrace, for Sodapop's best friend in the history of the universe was Steve Randle. Darry had no best friend to call his own. It made him sad sometimes, trying to convince himself that he was busy and had work and didn't have time for best friends, but he only ended up feeling more lonely.

Nobody to connect with. Nobody to really talk to or to make you feel better.

Dallas sighed from his spot next to Darry, a small smile peeking out from behind his lips as they parted in an _o_ shape to blow cigarette smoke. Darry sent him a raised eyebrow as he swatted at the front of his face, ridding it of the foul-smelling smoke. Since Darry didn't smoke a lot, he never got used to the odor and frequently coughed and gagged whenever somebody smoked around him. Most of the gang had taken notice that he didn't appreciate it and always moved to the other side of the room if they wished to smoke. Dally was the only exception, because he abided by no one's rules, unspoken or not.

"Hey, are y'all done making out over there?" Dally called without a care. The four had not been able to hug their best friends for days, and had refrained until they got home from the hospital to let their true affection shoe. The best friends broke apart slightly sheepishly, but nonetheless paused a moment longer to whisper in each other's ears, Pony in Johnny's ear, Soda in Steve's. Dally rolled his eyes, seemingly bored with the ordeal, but Darry could see something flash and sparkle behind them when Johnny retreated from Ponyboy's arms to his side. Darry also could not squash the small hint of satisfaction he felt when Ponyboy also decided to come nearer and stand next to his oldest brother.

A moment of silence, and then, from Darry's left, "Damn."

Darry tried to fight his grin with everything he had. That small, rueful word seemed to describe the life he was living. "Language, Ponyboy."

Pony shook his head, unashamed as he kicked at the gravel of the road a little. He glanced up for a second, at the Curtis household and his current residence, before saying, "So Johnny and I wanna know: what did y'all do while we were gone and he was stuck in the hospital?"

The bright blonde-haired hood and the icey-eyed worker exchanged a look. The previous week had passed by easily and with regular routine; Dally going out for fights every other night, sometimes with Johnny accompaning him to some place like...where ever they went together at night. Sodapop constantly visiting the hospital to see Steve and sometimes spending the night there. Two-Bit was usually at a bar somewhere (like right now), out satisfying his many prized blondes (Dallas not included, as the hood had once threatened the drunk Greaser). Darry and Ponyboy inched closer as each day passed, delicately sharing their thoughts, though still getting in a few arguements, they could always step back and take a look at the bigger picture. Darry went to work, worried over Pony and Soda, came home, cooked dinner, took a shower. Everything was ordinary.

Confronting what had happened the week before _that,_ however, was a slight challenge.

"Sodapop wouldn't get off the couch-"

"-had to fight some Socs who challenged us on Darry's own motherfucking lawn-"

"-jumped in front of a train, the idiot-"

"-beaten by the same Socs, and we ran out of supplies, so-"

"-went without TV for a whole hour, can you believe it-?"

"-a damn sight nicer than how she looked. Anyway-"

"-caught me and we started having a go at each other-"

"-who was real pretty, Pone, and real nice. She showed us the elevator-"

"-don't know what they were living off of until I came home to cook-"

Ponyboy and Johnny were highly overwhelmed, and, in unison, raised both of their hands and yelled, "STOP!"

The gang cast each other glances, before breaking out into smiles.

"To sum it all up, kid, Sodapop was being a lazy-ass and wouldn't get off of the couch one day, Darry jumped in front of a train, Two-Bit got beat up, we had to fight a whole gang of Socs, and there was this one night that I got two broads in my bed at once. It was great, they were practically panting for me to-"

"Dally, they don't need that mental image!" Darry cut the hood off just as he was getting into the story, seeing Ponyboy's face turn a light shade of green and Johnny's face begin to burn a bright scarlet.

Dally only laughed around his smoke as Darry gestured for everybody to head inside. There was a lot of catching up to do.

* * *

In the darkness of the Curtis living room, Ponyboy and Johnny sat cross-legged from one another and as close together as was humanly possible, to make sure that nobody could hear them whispering despite the late hour. The red-haired Greaser's hands were beginning to shake, and his best friend with a scar on his face and still-healing burn wounds on his back was growing worried. Would they be able to understand each other once these words were uttered? Would this be the end?

"Pony, are you really that nervous to tell me what you gotta tell me? You don't hafta if you don't wanna." Johnny said to the shivering Greaser.

Ponyboy shook his head, anxious but determined.

"So Johnny..."

"Yeah?"

"I've been thinkin' about gettin' a girlfriend..."

"Ok..."

"A-And I realized I d-don't want one."

"That's ok, Ponyboy, not everybody wants a girlfriend yet. You don't have to be like Dally and Two-Bit gettin' girls every night-" Johnny said that last part with a strange tone of bitterness, a strong contrast to his comforting tone.

"No, Johnny. I don't want a broad i-in m-m-my b-bed. Ever."

"Gosh, Pony." Johnny gasped quietly as he recognized what Ponyboy was trying to confess. "But there's nothin' wrong with that. I bet you there're a lot more people out there like you than you think."

"Thanks Johnny. But I-I have a-a-a _crush._ " Ponyboy bit his lip and paused, usure whether or not he was ready to admit this out loud. The name danced around his stoamch, making him feel cold and warm all at the same time, driving him infuriatingly crazy. Yet his feelings rang with such clarity. Could he deny them if he tried hard enough? Suddenly, it hit him that Johnny telling him there were more people like him had a more present-tense meaning. "Wait, Johnny...do you have a crush?"

"Um...y-yeah..."

"Who?"

"D-D-Dally." Johnny swallowed. In the dark, he blushed heavily, his thoughts being temporarily dominated by the blonde. "Who's y-your crush?"

"Oh, Johnny, please don't hate me."

"Of course not, Pony! You're my best friend!"

"It's Darry, Johnny." Ponyboy whispered frightfully, now fully shaking. "It's Darry."


End file.
